It Ain't Necessary So
by Fernside
Summary: Mycroft discovers eight children failed to start their first term at Hogwarts, one of them is his nephew. Is it just consequence or has the Voldemort's wars started to influence a second generation. Sherlock may be Slytherin but it's Gryffindor to the rescue once again when John joins the hunt. I will continue the story after Christmas.
1. Chapter 1

His parents were arguing again. Thomas huddled in his bed with his books scattered across the bedcovers and tried to not listen. As he clutched his toy dragon to his chest Thomas knew he was too old for such toys but the old battered dragon made him feel safe. He couldn't remember a time not filled with raised voices when his parents were in the same house. Conversations became emotional battlegrounds which seesawed between yelling and cold silences.

Their normal method of communication was to shout at each other, slam doors, throw ornaments and then his father would storm off to the basement while his mother would come upstairs to tell him how much she loved him. While playing with his hair, his mother would promise a lot of things that never happened.

Thomas gave a quick glance at the solid oak door that separated his bedroom from the hallway but neither of his parent had ventured upstairs to his floor yet. This fight had a different emotional tone, no yelling and no cold silence. It was like they were hissing the words they didn't want Thomas to hear. It was also taking a lot longer than their normal interactions.

"Does Master Thomas need anything?"

Thomas jumped, "No thank you, Mink. Would you like a jacket, it's quite cold outside."

"No Master Thomas, Mink is quite warm at present." The house elf tidied the bed covers, picked up two books that had been tossed to the ground and replaced them in the selves. "Do you think I should tell Master about the letter?" he said in an off handed manner.

"I've already told Daddy about that letter Mink so I think it's probably a different letter he was expecting." Thomas cuddled his dragon to his chest. "I don't think it's in your best interest to remind him about something he considered unimportant or maybe deleted. He might get angry."

"Master is very wise," said Mink as he looked around the room. "Your mother will be up soon. I'm sure she would like to discuss…"

The door slammed open to reveal a women standing in the entrance. Thomas sighed, it was going to be one of those conversations.

When Thomas was small he had believed every part truth and lie his mother spouted about his father. But when he reached the age of seven and a half, the house elves had gathered up all his belongings and placed them in this room. An unwanted gift to his father. That's where he lived now, in his father's house with the house elves and no one else.

"Mistress," said Mink as he moved away from the bed and bowed his head deeply.

"Get out," snapped Irene. "I'm here to see my son. Daring how are you." She sauntered across the room with her perfume, makeup and a designer dress and held out her hands. "Oh my poor, poor boy." She sat on the bedcovers, ran a hand across his forehead and played with his hair. "Sherlock said the stress of your birthday had made you unwell and I wasn't to make a fuss. I course I should make a fuss darling. It's not every day my child turned eleven."

"Dad said I was a muggle and I might have to go to a muggle school. I don't want to go to a muggle school. I would rather live with you."

Irene pulled back, "Your father knows best about these things Thomas. I may despise the man but he does have your best interests at heart. Yes, I think you should continue to live here until you are well enough to take your place in the family." Irene stood and walked over to the window.

Thomas wondered if his mother had retreated because of the word muggle or the thought of Thomas returning to her house. The real word for his situation was squib but even Thomas knew never to utter that word within the family and especially near his mother.

"Naturally the party I planned will be delayed until you feel better."

"I am feeling better mother, honestly." Thomas made wheezing sound then picked up his handkerchief, placed it over his mouth and took a deep breath.

"What are you doing?" she took a step closer.

"Its lavender and vapour rub, Greg says it's to make me breathe easier."

"Greg?"

Sometimes he spent weekends with Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Gregory. Uncle Greg would take him to and all sorts of exciting places in muggle London which made his father sneer and mutter under his breath.

Of course his father tried to teach him all sorts of potions, spells and magic. But Thomas knew he wasn't every good yet even though he could name an awful lot of herbs and things. Greg would say he was only eleven and not to sweat it but after one such session Thomas had asked Uncle Gregory what a goldfish was and his uncle had replied it meant that Sherlock was an idiot. But Thomas didn't think that was true because his father was just the most brilliant person Thomas knew.

"You know, I told you about Uncle Mycroft's boyfriend. He's going to take me to the London Zoo and the British Museum. Uncle Mycroft wants him to look at schools for me which is just silly because everyone knows I'll be going to Hogwarts." Thomas lowered his voice and his lip trembled. "Uncle Mycroft mentioned Beauxbatons if Hogwarts doesn't want me. Lately he's being talking about Oxford but I can't find it in the list of approved Wizarding Schools. Is it in Australia?"

"Uncle Mycroft needs to keep his fat nose out of other people's affairs. I blame your father of course. What can you expect from family of a muggle lovers and addicts but bad blood? The Alder's have never had this problem since your great aunt Myrtle ran off with that wastrel." Irene turned back to stare out the window.

"What problem?"

Irene opened her mouth then closed it. "Your father will explain?" she walked back to the bed and leaned over. "Now kiss your mother goodbye."

"But mother? What about cousins Berties birthday. You said we could go."

"Not now Thomas, you are not well enough, maybe the next one when you feel better." She gave him a kiss to the forehead and Thomas watched as she left the room. She didn't even slam the door.

But best of all thought Thomas as he rolled over in bed, this home was much more restful and quite than sleeping in his mother's house with her continuous parties and friends. He really liked living in this house with its lack of drama.


	2. Chapter 2

"How is Thomas?" Mycroft dismissed the house elf and took a seat at the breakfast table. He had been away a week, involved in meetings regarding intercontinental magic and no one had been allowed contact with home. Stupid really, the meetings had been boring and unnecessary. On his arrival home he found Greg already in bed and in no mood for late night conversation.

"Damn it," growled Greg and dropped the spoon back in the bowl. "Sherlock's gone and dragged Thomas to another healer. The child was sick for three days but Sherlock insisted Thomas still drink the damn potions. This needs to stop Mycroft. Thomas is suffering and for no good reason. For goodness sake, make some decisions regarding the child's schooling now not next month."

Mycroft placed a hand on Greg's shoulder and gently stroked. "I agree, this family needs to face the truth no matter how bitter. My parents and I had such hopes that Irene and Sherlock would produce an exceptional child." Mycroft paused as he felt the weight of generations past. "I made enquiries. I was told Cambridge or Oxford were excellent places of learning. I thought you could investigate and choose which one you think would best suit Thomas. The family will pay."

"Mycroft, he's eleven. He needs a high school not a university. But thanks anyway, you know, for caring."

"Gregory, did you think I could love my nephew any less for not being a wizard."

Greg leaned over and squeezed Mycroft's hand. "I...," but he didn't know what to say. It wasn't his place to interfere in family business. "Thanks."

Mycroft took a sip of his tea and stole a bite of toast from his lover's plate. "You'll be late for your appointment if you don't hurry and don't forget to remind Sherlock to present himself for dinner. I think a united front will do wonders for the boy's confidence. A muggle in the Holmes family tree," Mycroft gave a secretive smile. "Yes, if handled correctly there may be political advantage to be gained after all."

"Mycroft, you are nothing but a big softie."

"Such insults my love and so early in the morning. Now do hurry up or I shall be late to work." Mycroft leaned over and gave Greg a quick kiss. The ring on Greg's finger glowed bright and after checking his pockets Greg walked towards the fireplace. A flash of blue powder thrown by Mycroft and Greg found himself standing in front of Thomas. Dressed in jeans and sweatshirt the young boy looked like any other normal child found on the streets of London.

"You're late Uncle Gregory. If we don't leave now we'll miss the opening."

A small hand grabbed onto Greg's and dragged him towards the fireplace but Greg shifted his weight and brought them both to a halt. The boy was growing fast, thin but tall like his father. "Not so fast. I need to speak to your father before we leave."

"Why?"

"You've been invited to our place this weekend and Mycroft wants to arrange a family dinner at the Blue Hawk to celebrate your birthday. He insists your father attends."

"OK, but it's not as though he needs to be there or even wants to be there," said Thomas as he sat back down and picked up a book.

Greg removed a child's back pack from his shoulder and placed it next to Thomas. "Your father needs to be there because you are eleven and eleven is a big deal in any magic family."

"But I'm not," said Thomas turning a page of his book.

"Not what?"

"Not a wizard, everybody says so. Mum thinks I'm a squib and she's never wrong." It was safe to use the word with Uncle Greg because the muggle didn't understand the deep levels of meaning like a wizard or witch would. Thomas may have whispered the word to himself under the bed covers but this was the first time he felt brave enough to say the word out loud.

"Oh," Greg's face fell. "And what does your dad say?"

"He says he doesn't care, that he loves me anyway. I really do think we should be leaving now," said Thomas closing his book again.

Greg automatically took a step towards the fireplace.

"Does Master Greg need assistance?"

Greg jumped at the sudden appearance of Mink in the open doorway. For a moment he felt slightly dizzy and sick. The feeling passed as he rubbed his head and lightly scratched his hand where the ring felt warm. Mycroft had explained how the ring reacted to magic and of course the whole bloody house was full of dark magic. "Ahh, Sherlock. I need to speak to Sherlock. Yeah that was it," he said.

"I'll stay here and wait," said Thomas reaching for his book again. "You won't be long will you?"

Greg shook his head and walked towards the door. "Now be a good boy and wait here. I won't be long." The most likely place to find Sherlock would be the cellar.

"Master Sherlock is in the cellar if Sir would like to come this way," said Mink opened the door to the hallway and bowed.

Greg shook his head wondering why everything seemed to be repeating in his head. That bloody blue magic powder had got up his nose again, Greg had told Mycroft it wasn't healthy. He followed Mink thru the corridors and down the stairs. Personally he hated the cellars, they were like something out of a creepy movie.

If Sherlock was going to play with chemicals and potions what was wrong with a well ventilated sunny area, thought Greg. Somewhere modern with lots of glass walls, security doors and petree dishes.

"What," Sherlock looked up at the interruption as Greg and Mink entered the room. "Oh it's you, do go away I'm busy."

"Sherlock..."

"Yes," said Sherlock his attention drifting back to a large book propped up on the table in front of him. "Thomas can stay with you and Mycroft. That was the agreement wasn't it. I don't know why you continue to trot down here to ask?"

"Because it's polite Sherlock to inform the parent of the child in case you worry."

"Worry, why would I worry? You don't intend to harm Thomas do you?"

"Of course not."

"I state my case," said Sherlock and stirred his potion in a figure eight. "Why are you still here? What else, there must be something else you aren't usually this... Why is your ring glowing?"

Greg glanced down, he couldn't help it. "It repels magic, and you know magic." Greg waved his hand around the room at all the potions and herbs sitting on the selves.

Sherlock reached out grabbed Greg's hand and peered at the ring. "Marvellous work, Mycroft's of course, it's never glowed before. Your hands are cold and your eyes are glazed, are you sure you are well enough to take Thomas on an outing?"

Greg snatched his hand back. "It's just that bloody power Sherlock. It got up my nose again. Now concentrate, dinner at the Blue Hawk, you will be there or I will be very annoyed."

"Of course, Mink, remind me," commanded Sherlock and the little elf nodded. "Also I've decided to purchase a house in old London. I'm thinking Whitechapel, not any of those modern areas. I can't stand these new age witches. Do take it into consideration when you choose a school. I'll need a fireplace of course, maybe three."

"But you can't do magic in London, it's forbidden."

"Only if you get caught and I'm sure Mycroft will assist, after all you do wear his magic ring."

"But..." But Sherlock was right, thought Greg, the ring was charmed to protect Greg from rogue magic while he worked in the real world as a detective. And to keep in contact with Mycroft during the day. And assist with travel between the two realms and God knew what else. Sometimes Greg suspected it contained a credit line straight to Gringots bank. "So you want me to find you one house with three fireplaces, in an old area of London and near a good school for Thomas."

"Too complicated for you Detective?"

"No of course not." Greg started to leave but paused. "Just don't miss the dinner, OK."

"Do run along, Thomas is waiting." Sherlock turned back to his work after waving in the general direction of the door.

Greg knew he had lost the man's attention.

"Mink will remind the master," said Mink waiting like a good house elf in the corridor ready to lead Greg back to Thomas.

"A house, now his royal highness wants me to find a bloody house. What did his last slave die of?" Greg muttered to himself.

On hearing the words Mink threw himself against the wall and banged his head repeatedly. "Mink very loyal. Mink would never betray the Master. Sir should not think such evil things."

Greg crouched down and hugged the little elf to his body. "Mink I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. Of course you are loyal. Sherlock is proud to have you as his house elf."

"Last slave did very bad thing. Last slave was ripped apart. Very messy, much cleaning involved. Master was very angry. Sir not slave, Sir has Master Mycroft for protection."

"Sorry, it was a joke Mink. I didn't mean any harm."

"Sir should never joke about death near the Master." Mink blew his nose with a handkerchief, wiped his eyes and started once more walking down the hallway and up the stairs with Greg following along.

"Thank you Mink. Well I guess we should be off then," said Greg as they entered the room where Thomas was waiting. Greg frowned, "are you feeling alright Thomas. You look a bit flushed in the face."

Thomas giggled, "Fresh air and sunlight will make me feel heaps better Uncle Greg, please hurry up." In a flash of blue they were back at Mycroft's house then out the front door and onto the streets of London.


	3. Chapter 3

They caught the bus, climbed to the top and managed to switch seats to the very front when other passengers got off. Thomas grinned as he pointed out the sights and Greg couldn't help smiling back. At the zoo they lined up behind a group of school children, mums with prams and tourists. They gazed at the hunting dogs, owls and otters, and Greg's personal favourite the tigers. Greg purchased a toy owl even though Thomas stated quite loudly he was far too old for such a childish toy and he would much rather have a dinosaur. But the toy was purchased and Amadeus was carefully placed into the backpack along with a colouring book.

"Come on, one more appointment, then lunch, then the museum," said Greg as they finally walked out the zoo gates.

"I wish you lived here Uncle Greg, then we could walk to the zoo every day."

Greg looked at the houses lining the street and tried to place Regents Park and the zoo on his mental map of the city. "Want to walk through the park, maybe feed the ducks, yeah?"

"Can we?"

They started walking. Greg had been thinking Fleet Street, the Tower of London or even the theatre district but Georgian houses were old. They were bound to have fireplaces and central heating. Greg pulled the bread out of the back pack and handed half over to Thomas. Lords cricket ground was up the road and so was the Abby Road Studios. There were parks to play in, buses and underground stations close by. It was perfect for Thomas. Sherlock only needed a fireplace or three for floo travel and going by the chimneys on top of the roofs, there were no shortage of fireplaces. They can't all have been pulled out during redecorating.

"What are you grinning at Uncle Greg?"

"Needed, rental property close to zoo. Must have fireplace," said Greg as he handed over the rest of the bread.

"Two," said Thomas in a very grown up voice. "Must have two fireplaces, one for family and one for guests."

"Hurry up or we'll be late." Greg threw his last piece of bread and held out his hand. Sometimes Thomas sounded exactly like Mycroft at his most pompous.

"I'm eleven, I'm not a baby anymore," sneered Thomas but he slipped his small hand into Greg's large one and gave a squeeze before bouncing away with the energy of youth. It made Greg happy to see the bedridden boy enjoy himself.

They took the underground then the bus and walked the last few steps to the medical surgery where the receptionist took their names and told them to take a seat. Thomas primly sat next to Greg but soon grew bored. Greg pointed at the box of toys when Thomas started to fidget.

Greg glanced at his watch. What was the use of making appointments when Doctors were always late? He watched the elderly and the sick come and go and hoped like hell Thomas didn't catch anything. Sherlock would kill him if he brought home a sick child. Dangerous places medical clinics, like hospitals, they were full of germs.

"Thomas Holmes."

Greg looked up to see a tired looking man with dirty blond hair standing in reception. He stood, gathered up Thomas and quickly threw the toys back into the box before following the doctor deeper into the clinic. They turned into one of the rooms where Greg took a seat and gathered the standing Thomas close.

"Dr Watson, how may I help you?" said John slipping into a swivel chair next to the desk.

"We need to enrol Thomas in school and well, he's going to need all his childhood injections," said Greg. Mycroft had offered to provide the paperwork but Greg had explained that if Thomas was going to be a muggle he needed to get used to muggle medicine and not relay on witchcraft. Mycroft had no idea what germs normal child brought home from school and the idea of whooping cough, measles, mumps and chicken pox running thru the house plainly scared Greg.

Dr Watson looked at the paperwork on his desk. "What about his previous vaccinations? There seems to be nothing listed."

"I'm a muggle," said Thomas in a very prim voice.

"Are you now and how old are you young muggle."

"Eleven. My dad's going to buy a house in London. I'm going to go to school, and play in the park and go to the zoo every day."

"I take it you aren't his dad then," Dr Watson said to Greg.

"Nope, I'm the uncle."

"And where is Mr and Mrs Holmes may I ask?" said Dr Watson in a frosty voice.

"Dads in the basement. Mums probably shopping for charms," said Thomas with the honesty of youth. Greg cringed.

"Right," said John. "I better examine you then." John proceeded to take his blood pressure and listen to his heart. "What's this," he said while looking in Thomas ears. He rubbed his fingers together and a butterfly took flight. Thomas blinked and his mouth widened in wonder before the butterfly turned into pixie dust. Thomas giggled and even Greg was enchanted. "You need to keep your ears clean young muggle."

Weight and height were next and Thomas stood proudly next to a paper giraffe to be measured.

"What was your previous school?" asked Dr Watson.

"St Michaels of Witchcraft," said Thomas. "It's in Suffolk."

"Well," John wrote something on the page before he swung around and smiled. "The good news is nine years ago St Michaels started a policy to vaccinate all their children after a bad outbreak of whooping cough caught a lot of pure blood wizarding families by surprise. I'll request a copy of Thomas's health records shall I and find out what needs updating."

"Yeah, that's great. That's a big worry off my mind." Greg gave a big smile in the direction of Thomas. "Why didn't you say Thomas?"

Thomas just shrugged.

"Well, I think we should still consider a flu injection. It won't stop a cold but there are some nasty bugs going around this season." John went to the fridge when Greg indicated his approval, pulled out a vaccine and transferred the stickers to the correct parts of the paperwork. Greg read the warning and signed on the appropriate parts as legal guardian.

"Any allergies?" asked John.

"Sherlock takes him to a lot of healers so I don't really know. But I've been feeding him eggs, lots of eggs, duck, quail chicken, anything I can find really and he hasn't had a reaction to any of them."

John paused, "that would be Sherlock Holmes, brother of Mycroft Holmes."

"Yeah, do you know them?"

"The perfect prefect and his brother the weirdo warlock," muttered John putting the vials onto his desk. "Sorry," said John a bit louder when Greg gave him a strange look. "I went to Hogwarts. You belong to a very old, very powerful pure blood family young man."

Thomas beamed then pulled back at the sight of the needle. "Uncle Greg?"

Greg patted the boy. "No worry, the MET lines us up each season and jabs anyone who will stand still. They don't like sick days. I could go first if you like. Show him how it's done. It won't matter to me if it's a few months early." Greg undid some buttons and pulled down his shirt to reveal the top of his arm.

John pulled out a new vaccination and completed the paperwork. "Hold out your hand" he said and a little fairy appeared on Greg's palm.

"Tinkerbell," said Greg in an awed voice. He didn't even notice the injection going in as the fairy fluttered her wings.

"Now clap your hands," instructed John as Tinkerbell flew into the air.

Greg clapped and the fairy burst into stardust which floated down over Greg.

"Me next," cried Thomas pushing his shoulder forward. Greg stood up and Thomas took his place on the seat.

"I don't often do that. Most kids these days don't know who Tinkerbelle is." John picked up the next viral and once more checked the numbers against the paper work. "Now young Mr Thomas, would you like a badger, lion, snake or a hawk."

"Badger please."

"Well a young Hufflepuff, Hogwarts would have loved you." A badger appeared on the palm of Thomas's hand, it slowly plodded up his arm before it rubbed against his jaw and disappeared.

"Do it again," demanded Thomas face alight with glee.

"Sorry," said Dr Watson as he disposed of the needle. "But I don't have enough magic to do it twice. Once per injection otherwise other boys and girls would miss out. And that's not fair is it young Hufflepuff?" Thomas shook his head.

"But, if you come back next week and if I have the energy, I'll do it again. How does that sound?" asked John.

"Yes please." Thomas jumped off his seat and went to stand beside Greg. "What's a Hufflepuff?"

"Hufflepuff's love badgers and get to feed the magical creatures with Hagrid at Hogwarts. When they grow up they become zoo keepers or museum curators or park rangers. In your fathers library will be a book about Hogwarts and in that book will be everything about Hufflepuff wizards."

"Were you a Hufflepuff?"

"No I was a Gryffindor," said John "Now wait outside, I need to talk to your uncle."

"Why?"

"Because your Uncle is developing a rash on the back of his hand. He's scratching and that's not a good sign after an injection. Now go wait in the reception like a good boy."

Greg nodded in Thomas's direction and Thomas gathered up his back pack and after a look back, left the room.

"I think we need to have a chat," said John as the door closed behind Thomas.


	4. Chapter 4

Thomas found his father in the lounge and plonked himself into the opposite armchair. "Dad we had a great day. We feed the ducks and went to the museum and saw a fossil of a fish millions and millions of years old."

"Slow down," said Sherlock who had been laying on the couch thinking with his fingers in a praying pose under his chin. Sherlock turned his head to look at his son's excited face then swung his legs to the floor to sit up straight. "Has he found a school yet?"

"Who?

"The great Detective Lestrade?"

"Nope, we went past a few but he wants to choose a house first. We feed ducks in the park."

"I thought you were going to the zoo?"

"After the zoo dad, we went to the zoo then feed the ducks in the park. Do keep up."

"Right, Greg put the bread in the backpack. So obvious. What about your doctor's appointment?"

"The zoo was great dad, thanks for asking. Dr Watson made a badger walk up my arm. Can you do that?"

"Illusion, so childish, a waste of magical powers," huffed Sherlock.

"So you can't," said Thomas his attention distracted as Mink brought in a tray with hot chocolate, tea and a huge pile of sandwiches and placed them on a table within easy reach.

"No, not worth remembering. What else did the great Dr Watson say?"

"He made a really cute fairy with wings dance on Greg's hand. Then he gave me a flu injection." Thomas reached out and grabbed a sandwich.

"Bogus, fairies are not, and can in no way, be described as cute, ever."

"Trust me dad, this one was cute. She had a super short green skirt and her top was cut really low and Uncle Greg smiled like he smiles at Uncle Mycroft before they suck faces."

"Revolting image," said Sherlock as he picked up his cup of tea. He shook his head when Thomas held the plate in his direction "You did that on purpose to distract me. Now, the floo injection, what exactly is a travel injection and why did you need it?"

"Not a floo injection," said Thomas and took a bite of his sandwich. "A flu injection. It stops muggles getting sick. Greg got one too. He said muggles get one each year. Dr Watson also gave me some tablets. He said they could make me into a Hufflepuff. I need to take one at night and one each morning."

"And where is this medication?"

"Uncle Greg has it. He's going to talk to you." Thomas took another bite and chewed. "Did you know Uncle Greg is allergic to magic? He scratched his hand after the fairy danced on it. Dr Watson said it was something to do with Uncle Mycroft's ring because it became warm to the touch. If Uncle Greg is unwell, you will make him better won't you dad. I don't want Uncle Greg to get sick." Thomas finished the sandwich in two bites and reached for another.

"I'll speak to Mycroft if you like. Lestrade didn't look good this morning, mentioned something about the blue powder. Mycroft will be troubled if Greg becomes allergic the travel magic. Still, it would stop him putting his nose into my business every five minutes."

"Yeah but he couldn't take me to the zoo so I'd just have to meet him at Mycroft's. Don't forget dinner at the Blue Hawk."

"Why does everyone keep saying that, how hard is it to remember a dinner with Mycroft. Anyway I instructed Mink to remind me."

Which in Sherlock speak didn't just mean remind him verbally but Mink had permission to drag his dad out of the basement if necessary. "Is mum coming?"

"God I hope not, it's bad enough your uncle will be there."

"Greg thinks I should get a tutor to help me get ready for class."

"What for? I've been schooling you for years."

"I have to learn muggle math, geography, english, chemistry, and art." Thomas reached for another sandwich, opened it up to peer inside. He pulled out the lettuce leaf which he dumped back onto the plate.

"You grandmother is a financial wizard for Gridngots which has something to do with numbers if I remember correctly. You speak English as well as Latin and Greek. What is there to learn? And as for art, merely paint thrown at a canvas though you may need a degree to explain the inner rage it represents."

"I'll ask Uncle Mycroft then shall I?" Thomas reached for another sandwich.

"Do slow down or you will make yourself sick."

"I'm a growing lad, dad. Don't you know teenagers eat everything in sight?" Thomas grinned. "Do you want that?" he waved his hand in the direction of the plate.

"Go ahead just don't forget Mink will expect you to eat dinner."

Thomas shrugged, "dinner is hours away. Dr Watson said I got most of my injections at St Michaels. Is that true?"

"Yes, no, maybe." Sherlock took a sip of his tea.

"You forgot didn't you?"

"Deleted may be a more accurate word Thomas. In my defence Mycroft forgot too."

"Mmm," Thomas picked up his cup and started drinking, Socks made the best hot chocolate.

"I'm going to tell him you said that."

"Anything else I need to know?"

"Nope. Oh, I have another appointment next week with Dr Watson. Greg said he would try to fit in a football match."

"Football?"

"Don't worry, something else I have to learn for school. It's a muggle sport sort of like quidditch only on the ground with no brooms. Greg said he would teach me."

"Mmmm" there was a pause. "I could teach you the violin I expect."

"No thanks dad, I'd rather learn the drums and be in a rock band." Thomas sipped on his hot chocolate a bit slower to savour the taste. He didn't get an automatic refill like his father. Socks believed hot chocolate was fattening and young children should not have too much. "Dad, Dr Watson said I could be a Hufflepuff. What's a Hufflepuff?"

"It's one of the houses at Hogwarts." Sherlock reached over, picked up the lettuce leaf and started nibbling around the edge. When that was gone he picked up an egg sandwich and took a small bite.

"Do you think I could be a Hufflepuff?"

"Oh, doubtful, they were rather a pathetic bunch who believed in fair play and hard work. Quite the opposite of a Slytherin."

"What about during the war?"

Sherlock peered at this son. "During the war they were extremely impressive, which shocked quite a few of the fighters. No one expected a group with such useless talents would stand firm against the dark arts."

"Dad, you are such a snob. Are there any books in the library?"

"About what?" muttered Sherlock staring into the fireplace.

"Hufflepuff's, did you know their symbol is a badger?"

"Of course, they take their magic from the earth after all. Ask Socks, she would probably know. Or try Mycroft's library, he keeps all sort of useless information."

"Ok," Thomas held the mug high to let the last bit of hot chocolate dribble down onto his tongue. "Can I go visit Grandad?" he said as he dumped his mug next to the empty plate.

"Homework first," said Sherlock automatically.

"It's the holiday's dad, no homework remember."

Sherlock stared at his son. "Fine, but tell Socks and don't be late for dinner."

"Thanks dad, you're the greatest." Thomas ran for the door where he stopped. "Don't forget, Dr Watson, Hufflepuff, medication, Greg's sick, I need a tutor and the Blue Hawk for dinner. Bye dad." Then he was gone, out the door before Sherlock could utter a word of rebuke. The house once more settled into its silent state.

:

:

:

"I think I've found a house," said Greg four days later. "It's in Baker Street near Regents Park. It's got two bedrooms, kitchen and a laundry and it's on the bus route for school."

"I requested a fireplace," said Sherlock.

"Of course it's got a fireplace, maybe two."

"Well does it have one fireplace or two? How hard is it to count fireplaces or is that too much for your feeble mind."

Greg gritted his teeth and told himself not to hit the bastard. "Flat B upstairs has one fireplace and flat C downstairs has another one. I thought guests could enter from the down stairs flat and that way Mycroft wouldn't walk directly into your bedroom."

"Oh, well the place may have merit after all. Leave instructions and I'll take a look."

"Not on your own you won't," said Greg. "I'll take Thomas and Mycroft tomorrow and if they like the flat you can go take a look."

"I'm the one living there, I should be first to see it."

Greg shook his head. "And I'm not letting you loose on the muggle world on your own until you know how to behave. Now Thomas has another doctor's appointment so that will fit in nicely."

"How boring. I suppose you expect me to sit in on Thomas's etiquette lessons as well."

"It wouldn't hurt for you to learn how to live in the human world Sherlock, for Thomas."

"Rubbish, nothing to it."

Greg sighed and tried to keep his temper. "Thomas is going to need a school uniform, stationary and stuff so that will be another shopping trip. Mycroft organised the paperwork to verify a transfer from out of district. They aren't expecting him until the 23rd. If you don't like Baker Street I've found three more possible rentals depending on how much money you want to spend."

"Fine."

"Now, is he getting his medications? Dr Watson's going to ask." Greg rubbed his temple and closed his eyes. "There was something I had to tell you. Something about wizards."

Sherlock sneered, "Yes he gets his tablets, one at night and one in the morning, with food as instructed. If you don't believe me ask Mink. We have spent an r each day learning simple spells but it's no bloody good. A Hufflepuff. Do you know what a Hufflepuff is Detective. Of course you don't because you are completely useless. A Hufflepuff is friendly and loyal and modest. The very thought of encouraging my son to aspire towards being a Hufflepuff makes me want to be ill. I think I would prefer my son be a muggle." Sherlock banged his head on the table. "Shot me now."

"Sherlock, do stop being dramatic" said Mycroft. "Not everyone can have an ego the size of a house."

"I don't see what's wrong with being loyal and friendly," said Greg.

"You won't," said Sherlock as if that proved his point.

"If you're so smart why don't you make a fairy dance on the table?" said Greg. "Go on then show me what you can do.

Sherlock sneered, pulled out his wand and muttered a spell. Greg stood up and started dancing like a ballerina.

"No," said Mycroft in a bored tone and flicked his hand to cancel the spell. "Really Sherlock, what are you five?"

"What just happened? For a moment I thought ... you wanker Sherlock."

"You did ask for a dancing fairy," said Sherlock in a very bored tone with a hint of a grin on his face.

"Mycroft you promised."

"What did you do Sherlock?" Mycroft reached out to examine Greg's hand. "Magic, especially yours, should have no effect."

"Nothing. Oh all right, I picked the lock, then fixed the ring. Child's play really. Thomas was worried about Greg getting sick so I rearranged the protection layers.

"I do wish you would use your magic for something more worthwhile, brother mine."

"And how is the dancing fairy working for you Mycroft?"

"Better than your badger brother, I know for a fact you tried and failed."

"A complete waste of time, I have better things to do with my mind."

"Would everyone please focus?" snapped Greg. "Some of us have work in the morning. Sherlock do you want help to purchase the school stuff?"

"Right then," said Greg when Sherlock merely shrugged. "The doctor's appointment is tomorrow followed by flat finding. Then Sherlock takes a quick look and Thomas starts school a week Monday. Questions?"

"There is a small chance I can't make it tomorrow," said Mycroft. "Politics, I may not be free until after 4.00 pm."

"Right slight change in plan. I'll take Thomas to his appointment, the school and the flat and if he likes it you can visit after work."

"Thomas has been to some of the best healers money can buy. I don't see what you expect a used up healer, so lacking in magic he works as a muggle, achieve where others have failed?"

"Muggle kids go to muggle doctors so you better get used to it. Just be grateful Dr Watson understands magic."

"Magic, that quack gives out fake medicine and promotes the power of positive thinking. If I believe my son is a wizard then he will be. If this is a statement of muggle medicine then God help us all."

Greg rubbed his temple again. "Right, moving on. Mycroft has hired a teacher to prepare Thomas for school."

"He's on holiday."

"School started last week so he can lump it. Right are we agreed?" Both of the Holmes brothers nodded much to Greg's relief.

:

:

:

"What is it Mink." Sherlock dropped a frog into his potion.

"Mr Lestrade is unable to take the young Master to his appointment."

"Appointment?"

"With the doctor Sir."

"What about Mycroft, I thought I was excluded from the great house hunt."

"Master Mycroft was called away unexpectedly by the Ministry. He has requested you attend the appointment with Thomas."

"Don't be ridiculous, the Doctor is obviously a quack. No reason for Thomas be subjected to such an idiot. The whole idea is ridiculous."

"Shall I cancel the appointment then Sir?"

"Yes. No. Wait." Sherlock held up his hand to silence Mink. "No, I think I'll have a talk with this Dr Watson." Sherlock pulled his wand out the cauldron and tapped it on the side. "Find the London address, it's written on that bottle of pills and find me a map of London. Inform Thomas the appointment is cancelled. He said he wasn't feeling very well today so no need to bother him about this."

"Of course Sir."

"And I'll need money, muggle money. There must be some around here somewhere. Greg can't be paying for everything."

Mink disappeared and returned with money, maps and a coat. Sherlock scanned the map getting his bearings, grateful that Greg had made him sit in on the boring lessons about the muggle world and London in particular. The closest magical portal to the surgery was the Wobbly Hen Tavern and the distance didn't seem part apart. Sherlock smiled, a taxi would be the answer and how hard could it be.

:

:

:

"Ah, Mycroft, good to see you. I hear young Thomas won't be attending Hogwarts. Bit of a pity that he would have made an excellent Slytherin. Do remind Sherlock to complete form 14B for the Education Ministry. Well, nice speaking to you, must be off."

Then he was gone, red robes flapping behind him as Mycroft stared. If Mycroft remembered correctly form 14B was transfer of schools which shouldn't be required for anyone non magical. An error on behalf of the Ministry of Education was possible. A stuff up by Sherlock was much more likely, thought Mycroft as he returned to his office.


	5. Chapter 5

"Anthea, I need the list of all children sent acceptance letters by Hogwarts this year. All children, not just the British children. And Anthea, please be very, very discreet."

Discretion always took Anthea a little bit longer and but that expertise was the reason Mycroft employed her.

"The list sir, crossed referenced with the children who either started school at Hogwarts or overseas. There seem to be eight missing children, mostly from muggle families."

And in the middle, under H, was the name Holmes, Thomas Edwin Dalton. Oh, Mycroft was going to have a very serious talk with his brother.

"I was also able to acquire the lists for Baeuxbatons and Durnstrang. They also appear to have children unaccounted for."

Mycroft scanned both documents and written at the very bottom was the name Thomas Holmes under the heading application withdrawn, reason health.

"The American schools has claimed privacy issues but Japan, Russia and Australia have promised the information first thing tomorrow when they reopen. Will that be all Sir?"

"Yes, you may…," Mycroft's eyes slid down the list and stopped at the name Catherine Morton. He knew that name, Morton was an old family and their granddaughter had failed to start school. Of course there were plenty of Morton's not related at all, but that name. Why did he know that name? The more he looked at the pages, the more he felt uneasy.

"Sir," said Athena paused at the door.

"Bring me a list of all the children who didn't start at Hogwarts during the last five years along with their family history. Three generations if you please." Mycroft's eyes fell back to the page. Why did he know the name Morton? "Include all children who left school before their OWL's. I want to know where the children are."

"Of course sir," said Anthea as if it was a completely normal request. And maybe it was.

:

:

:

Sherlock looked around the surgery with distaste and picked a seat near the window away from the coughing and the sick. With his foot he pushed the toy box as far away as possible. Before long he found himself staring at the patients in the room to keep himself amused.

Pregnant, he thought, not the husbands. High blood pressure, lies about his exercise. Broken arm fell from a …

"Thomas Holmes."

Sherlock's attention snapped towards the man standing by reception. The great Dr Watson, thought Sherlock as he stood and made his way forward.

"Thomas," a man peered around the waiting room then back at the piece of paper in his hand.

"I'm his father," said Sherlock coming closer. "I wish to discuss my son's treatment."

"Right Mr Holmes, if you would come this way." They made their way down the corridor. "How can I help," said Dr Watson as he took his seat and glanced discreetly at his watch.

"Help, you can stop giving my son this rubbish." Sherlock pulled the pill bottle out of his pocket and thumped it onto the desk. "I have spent days analysing these pills and all I can find is vitamin C.

"Well yes," said Dr Watson confused. "That's what it says on the label, ascorbate, commonly known as vitamin C. What did you expect to find?"

Sherlock blinked, drew himself up straighter and leaned forward slightly. "Medications, potions something."

"Mr Holmes, as I told Greg there is nothing wrong with your child. Thomas should be a normally heathy eleven year old."

"For a muggle you mean." Sherlock stood up and paced around room unable to sit still any longer.

"Mr Holmes sit down this instant. That child should be at Hogwarts not sitting in bed pretending to be an invalid because his parents are neurotic." Sherlock sat once more a look of shock on his face. Good thought John, it was about time Mr Holmes heard a few home truths.

"Ridiculous," snapped Sherlock. "Thomas has been to the best healers money can provide. They agree …"

"Shut up and listen for once you selfish git. You Mr Holmes, is what I call a Potter parent. You were so immersed in the dark arts you live in fear that something will happen to your son. You and your wife have twisted his magic into something dangerous. I have a good mind to report you to the Ministry of Magic for child abuse."

"And why haven't you?"

"Well, because…"

"Exactly, you didn't. You obviously didn't think our situation important enough. Hogwarts did not send Thomas a letter," stated Sherlock as if that proved his point.

"Did you contact the Ministry?"

"About what?"

"The letter, I told Greg Thomas was a wizard and you needed to contact the Ministry of Education urgently. Clearly you didn't, but here you are. Tell me, that ring Greg wears, very old very powerful protection magic."

"Of course, what of it."

"And that same protection is in your home surrounding your family. Layers upon layers of magic protecting your only child, stopping any magic getting close to him. Let me guess, every healer who gives your child a potion Thomas reacts to it as if poisoned."

"I would know if my son had any ability?"

"Why?"

"Why, what?

"Why would you know? Have you ever had a potion that went wrong for no reason? Or a spell."

"That is hardly proof, spells go wrong all the time."

Dr Watson leaned back in his chair. "Did you know Thomas doesn't want to be a Slytherin because a Slytherin started the war?"

"Rubbish, the war was years ago. Thomas wants to go to Hogwarts, all this friends are there."

"Wrong, he wants to live in London like his friend Jayden so you can be together. He worries about leaving you alone."

"Utter rubbish." Sherlock folded his arms. "Anybody would think I was the child."

"Thomas likes badgers, would rather be a Hufflepuff than a Slytherin and wants to be a rock star when he grows up." John told himself arguing was a waste of time. Mr Holmes would continue to believe what he wanted to believe no matter what John said but there was a child's happiness at stake.

Sherlock snorted, "There has never been a Hufflepuff in this family since Henry married Mary in 1803."

"What's wrong with Hufflepuff's?" said John. "They are modest, gentle and kind."

"Exactly," said Sherlock and glared at the doctor. "How do you know he's a wizard, what gave it away?"

"I don't know."

"Come on, there must have been something I missed all these years. You were with him about fifteen minutes and suddenly you become an expert on my son. So sure of your facts you accused me of child abuse."

Dr Watson glanced out the window and frowned as he tried to recall the appointment. "The ring," he said. "Yeah, I noticed the ring and that Greg had been scratching. He gets a flue injection every year so it wasn't that. No allergy, but the ring was warm as if it had been close to magic. Only they had been to the zoo so Greg hadn't been around any magic."

"Oh, of course the ring," Sherlock stood up and paced around the room once more unable to sit still. "It glowed. Why did it glow, magic obviously? But not mine, my sons, close enough to confuse the ring but not enough to send an alarm. Oh Mycroft, you idiot. Why did I not sense it, I should have known." Sherlock took a few more paces. "His mother, why did his mother, oh, oh, how brilliant Thomas." Sherlock stopped and peered at the doctor. "Well I must be going Doctor, things to do. Give me your hand."

"What, why?" John, even though he was confused automatically held out his hand.

"Because the ring glowed in this office and the magic in this room is miniscule. Plus against your instinct you didn't contact the Ministry. A Gryffindor would never allow a Slytherin to harm a child."

John feel hot and faint as a wave of power ripped through his shields followed by a second wave of coolness which steadied him. "What did you do?"

"Removed the protections, rebuilt the shielding."

"That's brilliant." John flexed his tingling fingers.

"That's not what most people say."

"What do most people say?"

"No." And with that Sherlock spun around and marched out the door.

:

:

:

"Sherlock I want to talk to you," said Mycroft as Sherlock entered the house.

"Not now Mycroft, can't you see I'm busy." Sherlock continued to walk through the house with Mycroft following. "Mink, summon Greg and Thomas then take all the house elves and get out. Don't return until I call for you. Each elf is to be given an article of clothing out of the cupboard."

"Master is so kind, so generous,"

"Go," commanded Sherlock and continued down the hallway. "Where is Greg?"

"Upstairs with Thomas. Sherlock I must speak to you about Hogwarts. Why has Thomas not started school?"

Sherlock twirled to face his brother. "So you admit that he should be in school and he is in fact a wizard."

"I admit that his name is on the enrolment list but his name was added the day he was born."

Sherlock started moving again. "Interesting. You aren't sure but you deduce something. Something you won't admit to." Sherlock stopped in the centre of the house and turned towards the door. "Ahh, Greg do come in and stand next Mycroft. For safety sake I suggest you hold his hand. Other hand if you please and make sure Mycroft is touching the ring, yes that's right. Thomas if you could sit in this seat." Sherlock patted the back of a chair.

"Sherlock, what is this about?" said Mycroft even as he moved to obey the instructions.

"An experiment."

Thomas gave Greg a worried look but Greg just pointed at the chair and nodded. Strange behaviour from Sherlock when he was in a mood was a normal state of affairs.

Sherlock spread his arms wide and uttered an incantation. The room was engulfed in a blue wave of light which disappeared through the walls like a mushroom cloud. Explosions of smashing glass could be heard from distant rooms.

"Brother, what have you done?" Mycroft whispered in a shocked voice. As his skin prickled from the power of the magic released, he clutched Greg's hand tight and put his trust in his brother's abilities.

Four people appeared in the middle of the room, wands drawn.

"Stand down," snapped Mycroft as he rubbed his arms.

"Sir, there was an explosion from this address."

"Yes," said Mycroft turned to survey the destruction in the room. "Merely my brother being a megalomaniac as always. "You may go."

The four looked at each other, walked around the room and when they found no threat disappeared with a wave of a wand.

"Now please explain the meaning of this Sherlock."

"It appears your nephew is a Hufflepuff, Mycroft. You will remove all your protection from this household before I find them and break them."

"As if you could brother dear." But he gave a gentle wave of his wand and a mist of green light shimmered around the room before sliding out the door. "What do you mean a Hufflepuff?"

"Your nephew has been using the ring to channel his magic. It's why the ring glows and Greg has a sudden allergy and a need to scratch."

Mycroft turned and peered in the child's direction, "Ah, of course, well played Thomas. I should have realised, you are your father's son after all."

Sherlock snorted.

"Even as a child Sherlock you could never do anything the normal way. If I remember correctly you refused to go to school until mother told you Hogwarts had pirates on the lake."

"Falsehoods, I merely though Hogwarts had nothing of value to teach me. And I was right, half the teachers failed to match my brilliance."

"My hand hurts," said Greg in a tiny voice.

Sherlock took a step forward and peered at Greg's hand. "Remove the ring, it should make you feel better."

"Mycroft," whispered Greg, his breathing laboured and his hand now cradled into his chest.

"Sherlock, it isn't coming off."

Sherlock reached out to assist but the ring refused to budge. Dropping Greg's hand he turned towards his son, "Thomas release the ring."

"But I don't know how," said Thomas in a tiny voice looking scared.

"Badgers are gentle and kind and they would never leave a muggle in pain," whispered Sherlock softly.

After looking at his father Thomas walked over and rubbed Greg's hand gently with his fingertips. The ring slipped off into Mycroft's fingers.

Then Thomas turned white, he placed a hand over his mouth and started to heave. Potions and herbs spewed onto the floor. A quick flick of Sherlock's fingers made a bucket appear. Gentle pressure had Thomas kneeing on the ground, his head over the bucket and Sherlock gently quietly rubbing his back whispering soothing words. Explanations could wait until later.

:

:

:

Thomas was tucked up in a warm bed in Mycroft's house. His toys, the ones that were able to be easily salvaged, were placed on the selves around him.

Witch Hazel had been summoned and after an examination said Thomas was merely suffering from a magic blockage. Perfectly normal in teenaged children. Feed him plenty of kiwi fruit, oranges and chicken livers she said walking out the door.

Hazel poked at Greg, muttered to herself and prescribed lemon, honey and sleep with instruction to send him to his own muggle doctor if he didn't show improvement in the morning.

Mycroft returned to the manor house after putting Greg to bed. The house elves had been recalled and put to work cleaning. The smell of lemon and burning herbs was already replacing the acid stink of smoke.

"Was it necessary to cause quite so much damage," said Mycroft poking at the ruins with his wand, mindful of the dirt and broken glass. Sherlock had already started in the callers when Mycroft joined him.

"The wards were interwoven. Five years of protection spells tend to bleed into each other." Sherlock picked up a book flicked thru the pages then dropped it back onto the ground for the elves to tidy up later. He lifted his wand, pointed it at the edge of the book case and exploded the corner.

"Most spells fade."

"Really, it must be so boring to deal with such limited power. The need to repeat a spell every few years, I don't think I could stand it." Sherlock didn't say that most of the unbroken spells belonged to Mycroft, the twat.

"Remember the war Sherlock, no need to state the obvious."

"Need I remind you that this was my son?" Sherlock reached down and picked up a slightly scorched stuffed green griffin which had fallen into a corner. "Thomas loved this, took it with him everywhere. Beautiful work, Aunt Lily I assume, whatever happened to her," said Sherlock studying the toy.

"Ran off with her husband's personal assistant and became a bus driver in Brazil. Another delicious scandal you managed to miss. I remember Mummy was very upset at the time." Mycroft picked up the toy which glowed in his hand before exploding.

"What part of Thomas loved that toy did you not understand Mycroft."

"Oh very well," Mycroft waved his wand and the shredded stuffing and fabric started moving towards each other until the toy once more looked like a slightly scorched stuffed griffin which he placed on a bench."

"Show off," muttered Sherlock. A flick of his fingers made the toy as good as new, well almost new. It looked a much better with a slightly chewed ear. "John said Thomas aspires to be a Hufflepuff."

"John?" Mycroft trapped the handle of his finger nail against a dream catcher still in the window to break it. A group a fairies darted out the window towards the garden.

"Dr Watson," said Sherlock picking up a flask then dropped it when it failed to hold his attention. "I looked at Thomas and I couldn't see it, yet when I looked at John, I could see the magical impact so clearly. Oh, to be deceived by a mere child, the humiliation."

"Do get a grip Sherlock, he is after all, a Holmes. What did you expect? You on the other hand were much worse at his age."

"I was a model child."

Mycroft snorted as they moved on.

"I'm sorry your Greg was hurt," said Sherlock in a soft voice as they walked to another room. "It appears Thomas has been channelling his magic and using misdirection."

"And you failed to notice, really Sherlock Mummy will be very upset."

"In my defence I must say that not every explosion was my fault. It's very annoying, I'll need to waste time re-examining all my deductions during the last two years. He didn't mean harm anyone."

"Yet harm is what he created. I investigated the ring and it showed a delicate pattern of tempering. I thought it was you. Now I realise Thomas had been influencing Greg's behaviour." Mycroft moved slightly to the side to allow an elf to pass with a bucket and mop.

"I thought it was rather impressive for a child of his age," said Sherlock unsure if he should feel smug or cross at his son's behaviour.

"Have you questioned Mink?" If the elf was not loyal thought Mycroft, arrangements would need to be made to destroy the creature without upsetting Sherlock.

"Yes."

"And?"

Sherlock shrugged. "He implied it may have been my fault. My fault, how in God's name could it have been my fault. Why do I have to listen to every stupid word that is uttered by complete morons? As if I'm even interested in their petty lives. It's Minks responsibility to run the household, not mine."

"But if you treated Greg more as an equal you might have noticed the inaccuracies. What exactly did Thomas tell you when he returned from the doctor's appointment?"

"Dead fish, zoo and ducks, feeding of. Dr Watson and badgers. Investigate Hufflepuffs and schedule one hour per day wizard lessons. Medication, one pill in the morning and one at night. Mink to check. Greg's sick, allergy to blue powder, solution fix the ring. Tutor to be provided by Mycroft. The Blue Hawk for dinner and Socks to oversee his meals."

"And what did Greg tell you."

"He talked to me?" Sherlock blinked and tried to remember. "Of course he did. Well I'm sure he said exactly the same thing. Something about ducks and if I still wanted a house in London and a school. Ridiculous questions, of course I want the house in London. We all agreed on a location near St James Park with a school nearby. Why would I bother to go through all those tedious meetings just to change my mind?"

"Why indeed when circumstances change," said Mycroft and wondered again how his brilliant brother could be a complete moron. Sometimes he deeply despaired of Sherlock. "His mother will need to be told."

"Too late, I sent an owl hours ago. I informed Irene her delicate son has displayed feeble signs of wizardry and a medical diagnoses indicated a possible Hufflepuff. I expect to hear the scream of dismay from here."

"You do realise he's a Slytherin. The plan was devious, sneaky and single-minded in its goal. Had he not been a child the Justice Ministry would have been involved. He actually used a memory charm to obscure Greg's memories." Had it been anyone else thought Mycroft, the punishment would have been swift and the lesson well learned. He was still undecided on how to discipline Thomas. A young child who had revealed such talent and power needed to be carefully handled.

"John said if Thomas wants to be a Hufflepuff then he can be a Hufflepuff. Until the sorting hat chooses, isn't that what they say at Hogwarts. I must say I'm delighted in the idea of Irene believing her son is a mere Hufflepuff. Even the word has a certain soft and fluffy tone."

"You are such a child Sherlock."

"And I thought you knew everything Mycroft. So how did a half-blood doctor with almost no magic manage to uncover a truth after only one brief meeting?"

"Naturally I will commence an investigation into how some of the best healers in the civilised world managed to be so incompetent" They made their way to the second floor destroying left over magic as they went. "And the letter? What happened to the letter?"

"He intercepted the owl. Left a fake Ministry letter for the elves to find with letterhead nicked from your office I might add."

"A very ambitious plan. He also managed to have his name removed from two school rolls. What did he hope to achieve?"

"What does any child want? To be less boring than his parents?" Sherlock released a puff of magic to make any remaining spells glow. "What did you want as a child?"

"To be left alone to learn everything possible," said Mycroft. "So I could do everything I wanted. Oh."

"Yes oh," said Sherlock. "How did I miss it, how did we, the greatest minds of our generation be out thought by a child. It's simply sickening." He put extra effort into killing a ten legged spider running towards a corner to hide. "John said Thomas was worried about leaving me on my own."

"Don't we all," muttered Mycroft under his breath. "At his age you wanted to be a pirate. At least he wanted to do something useful, if misguided," he added in a louder voice.

"Useful, learning the history of magic was hardly useful. And to think Thomas considers Hagrid a teacher of merit. As if a game keeper has any useful knowledge."

"I seem to remember you were rather fond of a dog."

"I also used to sneak out to feed the dragons but you don't see me owning one now."

At last they had made a full circuit of the house from basement to roof cleaning out any stubborn magic that refused to die.

"Do speak to Mummy if you have any trouble untangling the remaining spells. I'm sure she would be happy to help," said Mycroft looking around. "The gardens and sheds can be done tomorrow."

Together they walked thru the fireplace into Mycroft's house where a house elves took their coats and handed them both a brandy.

"John will need to be investigated," said Sherlock taking a seat in front of the fire.

"Of course."

"He remembers who I am. He remembers what I did in the war."

"The perfect prefect and his brother the weirdo warlock, Greg told me." Mycroft said when Sherlock gave him a look. He relaxed into his chair and took a sip of his drink. "When do you intend to leave Sherlock?"

"I moved in less than six hours ago and you already want us gone."

"Not Thomas, just you. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that sentimental rubbish."

"It should take a few days for the elves to clean the house. Furniture will need to be replaced and the windows of course. Then there are the spells and charms to restore."

"You only need a bedroom and the basement. You hardly use the rest of the house."

"I bet Greg would let me stay if I asked him nicely."

"Greg is a muggle and as such you will not impose on his sweet and generous nature. Don't out stay your welcome Sherlock. You could either stay with Mummy or in the London flat."

"How could you be so heartless to your own flesh and blood?" Sherlock finished his drink and held out the glass for a refill. "What exactly do you want?"

"Why would I want anything?"

"Because I know you brother."

"There does appear to be eight children missing from Hogwarts. I would like to know where they are."

"Children? Why do you care, merely give the list to the Education Ministry, it is after all their responsibility."

"Because Thomas was one of the eight named on the list and somebody needs to care. If not me then who else? I require someone to investigate discreetly."

"And you want me to do it?"

"Actually I was thinking of Dr Watson but you could assist. He is after all lacking in magic. I think you might find it an amusing diversion."

Sherlock snorted and took another sip of his brandy. He had enjoyed his trip to London, the taxi ride, the scenery and the people. London was so new and different while the wizarding world had grown so boring and predictable. "Thomas needs to be settled into school."

"Of course, do take your time. Dr Watson can start with the easy cases. After all it's the pure blood families that will likely cause the problems"

"Problems?" Sherlock sat up a bit straighter his attention locked onto his brother.

"Bad choice of word, forget I said that. I meant the old families won't like a half blood asking questions about their children."

Sherlock stared deeply at his brother. "But you said problems. You never say a word you don't mean. Anthea is investigating yet you don't want the correct authorities involved. Why? The war, no. Slytherin, no. Thomas," Sherlock paused. "Oh all right, I'll do it," huffed Sherlock.

"Thank you," said Mycroft. "Now that wasn't hard as it?"


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock walked into the dining room wearing his dressing grown and sat at the table. "Tea and toast," he said to Elm. The house elf scurried away to obey. Mycroft was reading the Daily Prophet drinking tea while Thomas and Greg were eating omelettes.

"Morning dad," said Thomas his mouth full of food.

"Manners," said Mycroft from behind his paper. Greg grinned and winked at Thomas while taking another mouthful and chewing.

Thomas finished off the last forkfuls on his plate while Elm delivered the tea and toast as requested. His father didn't do breakfast and his father especially didn't socialise with Uncle Mycroft if he could help it. After the previous night, his dad's strange behaviour made Thomas a tiny bit nervous. He pushed the empty plate away and took a sip of his own milky tea.

"Master has a letter sir," said Mink. Against protocol Mink had refused to allow Elm, Mycroft's head elf in residence to deliver the important letter to the young Master.

Thomas looked down and saw a silver tray holding two plates. One had a muffin with a lit candle stuck in the middle and the second plate held a letter. Thomas E D Holmes was written on the front of the envelope in large bold letters. The envelope looked very much like the first one which he had returned unopened with a polite letter of rejection.

After a quick glance at all the faces staring at him, he sat back to allow Mink to slide the two plates onto the table. This was obviously why his father had come to breakfast.

"Well, open it we don't have all day," said Sherlock cutting his toast into hexagonal pieces and popping a tiny piece into his mouth.

"Candle first," said Greg. "Big breath. Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…."

Thomas felt himself going red with embarrassment as Uncle Greg sang. No one else joined in but Uncle Greg was weird that way. Thomas flicked his eyes from his father to Greg.

"His birthday was two months ago," said Sherlock in a bored voice when Greg finished.

Greg frowned, "I know. I was there, I brought him a present unlike some people. Now shut up the candle is melting. Right then, happy wizard day to you. Happy wizard day to you….."

The Detective's enthusiasm as catchy and Thomas grinned, glad the man wasn't angry at him for the memory charm. He took a big breath and blow out the candle when Greg finished singing. He had half expected his father to click his fingers to relight the candle but the candle remained unlit and smoking. He carefully removed the candle then took his knife and cut the muffin into four pieces which Mink took around the table. Carrot cake with lemon icing was his favourite but he knew it was polite to share because Mycroft as still miffed at being deceived and cake for breakfast was a special treat. When each person had a piece Thomas cut a small slither off his own slice and discreetly gave it to Mink.

"Not at the table," said Mycroft using his fork to eat his cake.

Mink's ears drooped and he took the tray with his small piece of cake into the hallway out of Mycroft's sight.

Sherlock took a sip of his tea ignoring the slice of carrot muffin in front of him. "Can we open the letter now?"

Thomas quickly picked up the envelope and broke the seal. "My appearance is requested in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts School at 2.00 pm on Monday," he read before passing the page across to his father.

"Well done Thomas," said Mycroft and lowered a corner of his paper to smile at his nephew.

"Yeah kid, congratulations," added Greg.

Sherlock looked up from his plate, "your mother will need to take you shopping."

"Berlin," muttered Mycroft once more behind the Daily Prophet.

"Mummy then, I'm sure she would simply be delighted."

"Dijon, Cousin Bernard is having a baby."

Sherlock threw his hands in the air. "That's what I expect from this family, complete selfishness. Her only grandchild and she won't even take him shopping for the most important event of his life."

Mycroft hid his smile. "Both Greg and myself are also otherwise occupied."

"Have I said a day or time yet?" snapped Sherlock. "Fine, I'll take my son, your nephew, shopping. How hard can it be?" Sherlock reached over and plucked the list out of Thomas's hand. "Good lord, do you really need all this?"

"All of it Sherlock plus he needs jeans, tee shirts, underwear and warm winter wear to go under the robes. You know how cold it gets in Scotland. He will also need grooming supplies, writing materials, and a traveling case to carry it all. I'll have Anthea make you a list shall I?"

Sherlock scowled in his brother's direction and took a large bite of muffin which he washed down with tea.

"Mink will take me father if you don't want to," said Thomas.

"In fact," added Thomas in a very grown up voice. "I think it a much better idea if I go on my own. I need to learn independence for school and I'm sure you have much better things to do."

Sherlock's head whipped around as the word Hufflepuff was whispered behind the newspaper. He pushed back his chair and stood. "We leave in three hours," he said picking up a tiny piece of toast and departing.

"That went well," said Greg as he pushed his empty plate to the side.

"Did mum really..."

Mycroft folded the paper in quarters and peered at his nephew as he placed the folded paper on the table. "Do you really want her to take you shopping in Diagon Ally? I thought not," said Mycroft when Thomas gave a small shake of his head. "I did send an invitation for her assistance but due to an error the owl won't arrive until next week."

Thomas grinned, "Thanks Uncle Mycroft."

"Anthea will supply the list and Mink can be trusted with the necessary financial transactions. Do try to keep your father out of trouble and remember shopping can be done over more than one day."

Thomas stood up and walked around the table to give his uncle a hug. "Thank you Uncle Mycroft," he whispered. "You are the best uncle ever."

Mycroft softly pattered his nephews arm. "Remember, your father has the attention span of a gnat and he can be extremely embarrassing in public. Nevertheless, once at school you won't see him until Christmas. Do try have fun and remember to treat yourself to lunch."

"Yes," yelled Thomas and fist pumped the air before charging out of the room.

"You softie," said Greg. "Give us a kiss." He leaned over and kissed Mycroft on the cheek.

"I consider a day's shopping with Sherlock a suitable punishment for his recent behaviour. Now I'm going to be late for work if I don't leave immediately." But Mycroft took time to kiss his lover properly before leaving.

:

:

:

Sir" Anthea slid a stack of papers onto Mycroft's desk. "The missing children for the last five years, muggles included, crossed referenced to great grandparents and their individual Hogwarts houses. Now if you exclude the muggles," the parchment glowed and a group of names walked off the page. The other names rearranged themselves. "You will note there is a bias towards families who supported the dark side during the war. I also located three other children who also failed to start under suspicious circumstances."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "And what happened to them?"

"Dead Sir, unfortunate accidents. Karen Hamlet was known to be a particular nasty child, she drowned. Toby Denver was known to lie, cheat and steal from an early age, he fell off a broom. Zelda Suffolk Perkins chocked to death in front of ten people. She may have been an accident as she had the potential to be either a Ravenclaw or Slytherin. But her name was removed from the roll before her death because the family decided to educate her in America. It appears not one of the ten people tried to help."

Mycroft frowned, "The Assistant Minister of Transport assured me seven months ago his niece was going to Hogwarts. He made a feeble joke about Zelda and my nephew making a love match thus joining the families. A disgusting thought yet according to this date, her name had already been removed from the school rolls."

"Maybe he didn't know Sir."

"Or forgot more likely, still," he pulled the list of names closer. "Alice Morton, her brother was found guilty of the dark arts. Her sister died fighting in the war and now her child is missing. The Morton family were very large supporters of Voldemort during both wars." He tapped his fingers on the desk. "Did I tell you, Thomas doesn't want to be Slytherin? He would prefer Hufflepuff House?"

"No Sir, congratulations Sir, I'm sure he'll be an excellent Hogwarts student."

"The question is, how many parents don't want their children associated with Slytherin?"

"Other houses fought on the dark side Sir as plenty of Slytherin fought on the light side." Anthea was Ravenclaw but her family had chosen the wrong friends to support during the second war. The damage to family, both financial and political was slow to heal. "Should I notify the Ministry of Education? They are required to be informed before any child is questioned."

"I don't think the Ministry of Education needs to be involved quite yet Anthea. Maybe a fact finding mission first. There is no need to embarrass the voting public or the Minister."

"Then I suggest a visit to each child from the Honeypot Trust, in association with the Society for the Support of Squibs. Proud families don't want to admit possible financial difficulties and the war made it difficult for many."

Mycroft considered the statement. The Honeypot Trust was a well-established charity with a solid repetition despite the bizarre causes it sometimes funded. Even better, it had been established using Sherlock's trust fund so his involvement wouldn't necessary raise questions. "Excellent idea and I already have just the person in mind. Please arrange to have a background check on a John Hamish Watson, a Gryffindor working as a doctor in London."

"Would this be an official security check, Sir?" Dr Watson had already passed an initial investigation when added to the list of possible London doctors for Thomas.

"Yes, and one final thing. Sherlock is taking Thomas shopping for school supplies. Please provide a shopping list of anything you deem necessary, and don't forget this is Sherlock."

Anthea nodded. "Will that be all Sir?"

"Yes thank you Anthea. Excellent work as usual." When Anthea left he stared at the list of names splitting columns into names he knew from school and the war, and names the family knew socially or through work. The names marched around the page on his whim and no matter how he arranged the names he didn't like the outcome.

:

:

"What's first?" asked Sherlock as they arrived in the cobbled streets of Diagon Ally.

Thomas looked at the list provided by Anthea. The items were colour coded in importance with suggested place of purchase and price. There was even a map on the back with numbers corresponding to the front. "One wand," he said. "Ollivanders"

"Right," said Sherlock and all three marched into the wand shop. Thomas had high hopes because Ollivanders had the best wands in all of England, possibly the whole world. The entire family purchased their wands from Ollivanders. Inside there were boxes and boxes of wands stacked against the wall.

"Here to purchase a wand are we," said the witch popping out from behind the counter to look at Thomas with a cheerful happy face.

"No, we are here to purchase cauldrons," snapped Sherlock. "Stupid question, of course we want a wand. Why else would we come to Ollivanders? Do get on with the measuring, we don't have all day."

Thomas stood still as the magic tape took measurements of his arm, fingers and the distance between his eyes and his fingers.

Sherlock stomped up and down the stacks of wands pulling out boxes and it was only Mink's quick reflexes that stopped the stacks from toppling over. Elm, oak, ash, dragon heart, eagle feather griffin the witch assistant brought everything with patience.

None of the wands placed in Thomas hands worked. At each failure, Sherlock snatched the wand out of his sons hand and throw it towards the wall. "No, no, no, rubbish, why are you wasting my time."

But patience can't last forever and even a witch used to dealing with difficult customers and children to make a sell had a limit. The purchase of the wand ended in disaster with Sherlock dragging Thomas out of the shop with the witch suggesting in a very loud voice they never return. Mink followed, his ears bent in shame.

"Idiots, everyone knows dragon hair make the best wands. How dare they try to sell you inferior goods, Mycroft will hear about this. What's next?"

"Err, a cauldron."

"Excellent, I could do with some new cauldrons." Sherlock looked up and down the street then started walking. "Right this way."

Thomas scrambled to keep up with his father's long strides. All the shop windows beckoned him to look but he didn't have time because his father was already disappearing into Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment.

The shop as crammed fill of, well things, thought Thomas looking around.

"Cauldrons," stated Sherlock to the first person he saw and was shown to the back of the room.

"We need one pewter cauldron size 2" said Thomas reading from his list.

Sherlock tapped the stated item. "Rather small isn't it," he said. "Wouldn't you prefer a slightly bigger one?"

"It says size 2 pewter," said Thomas firmly. "And that's what I intend to buy." Thomas picked up the pewter cauldron and clutched it to his chest.

"Very well, but iron is much more practical."

"I agree Sir," said the shop assistant. "But Hogwarts simply will not change with the times. Perhaps you would like to purchase one of each to allow the child to practise during the holiday period. Copper is also a very popular choice with Christmas only a few weeks away. We also provide a free name engraving service and of course, delivery for the larger purchases."

"We don't want any of those cheap mass produced things." Sherlock tapped his wand on the side of a cauldron and listened to the tone.

"Of course not Sir, I can spot a man of taste."

"What are these?" asked Sherlock stopping at a pallet of gleaming cauldrons.

"The newest latest thing," said the man dancing attendance. "Glass" he tapped on the side. "A wizard is able to view the magic process in action or if Sir would prefer," he led Sherlock a few steps to the left, "This one will change colour during the cooking process. A must for any delicate potion that is heat sensitive. And this one is recommended for the witch serious about traditional foods and comes with its own recipe book. We expect to sell out before the Christmas rush."

Sherlock turned in a circle looking at all the merchandise his eyes glowing in delight. "One of each, medium. They might be interesting. I'll need three iron in large black and another three in size four. What else do you have?"

Thomas felt control slipping away as he followed his father. A hand tugged on his sleeve and when he looked down Mink took the pewter cauldron size two out of his arms and motioned Thomas to follow. Mink popped a set of brass scales held in his other hand into the cauldron. "This way Master Thomas," he said.

Thomas choose the set of crystal phials and placed them with the scales in the cauldron. Crystal looked nicer than glass and even better, they were on special, two sets for the price of one. Thomas didn't think the extra expense would be noticed next to his father's spending spree.

Mink and Thomas walked around the store looking at all the wizarding equipment. Picking up items and putting them down. Five gallons for a brass telescope seemed an awful lot of money. There were of course more expensive telescopes but there were also cheaper ones but if the telescope got damaged or stolen Mycroft might not be happy about the expense.

"I don't know Mink, what do you think?"

"Mink unable to make decision."

Thomas sighed not sure if should go interrupt his father for advice. Anyway his father's advice would be, if in doubt buy the most expensive one.

"Young man, if you turn left and go down the hall to the second door you might find something suitable on the middle shelf," said a witch dressed in green who walk past with a box of vacuum glass jars.

"Thanks," said Thomas and they proceeded in the direction indicated. On the shelf covered in dust and fingerprints were telescopes of all shapes and sizes. Mink gave each one quick polish with a rag he produced from a magic pocket and then passed the telescope to Thomas.

"This one," said Thomas at last giving the telescope back to Mink. The telescope was brass, cost only one gallon and best of all, the word badger was engraved on the side.

Mink thwacked the telescope against the self then looked thru the eye piece before declaring it suitable for a first year student.

"There you are," said Sherlock as Mink slid the cauldron onto the counter with the items inside. "I wondered where you got to."

"Shopping," muttered Thomas wondering how his father had managed to beat him to the counter. He also placed on the counter next to his school items an extra cauldron he had picked up on the way back.

"You can't take that to school," said Sherlock.

"It's not for school," said Thomas and discreetly checked his list, pleased with the amount of items he had managed to tick off.

"You don't want this thing young man," laughed the shop assistant. "It's got badger written on the side. You'll be the laughing stock of Slytherin house. I'll get you a new one shall I?"

"No," declared Thomas and took a step closer to his father. "I'm going to be a badger and I want that one, please father."

The shop assistant stared. Sherlock picked up the telescope thwacked it on the counter, shook it against his ear then stared thru the eye piece. "I suppose it will do. Star gazing is one of those useless subjects they make you learn." He dropped the telescope back onto the bench making Thomas wince. "Have those things engraved with the name Thomas Holmes and sent to this address." He pointed to the small pile in front of Thomas.

"Wait, I need a different name on this one," he wrote a name on a piece of paper and slid it across the bench then closed his eyes to the total cost as Mink provided a bag of gold and completed the transaction. Mink slid the receipt into his pocket.

The purchase of the robes, hat and dragon hide gloves were easy as was the winter cloak when money was no option and the family always used the same tailor. Thomas also found himself kitted out in shoes, (school, daywear and good) boots (forest walks) and trousers. Jerseys, socks and underwear were added to the pile to be delivered after name tags were added.

"Next," stated Sherlock.

"Lunch," said Thomas hopefully starting to feel fatigued.

"Not hungry." Sherlock looked at the list and the items Thomas had neatly crossed off. "Books, I know just the place. Follow me." They walked down the street, around the corner and down an ally into a shop where the door squeaked when opened.


	7. Chapter 7

John collected his tray of roast beef and vegetables and a mug of apple cider from the tavern counter and turned to find somewhere to sit. As he walked past a table he noticed from the corner of his eye a teenager sitting alone playing with a slice of cake with a book in his other hand.

Something made him stop and turn. The child was familiar. "Thomas?" On the table sat a plate of lasagne, salad and chips waiting to be eaten. "Hello Thomas, how are you," he added when the child finally looked up.

"Fine Dr Watson."

"You don't look fine to me you look upset. Isn't there an adult with you?" said John as he quickly looked around the tavern.

"Dad's still in the bookshop reading. Mink's just gone to check on him again. Would you like to have lunch with me?" he said in a hopeful voice.

John glanced down at his plate, he had planned on being alone but realised Thomas would feel rejected if John sat at a table for one. So John slid into the seat across from Thomas. "How have you been Thomas?"

"Good," said Thomas picking at his cake.

"I don't think that's true." John put his plate and cutlery onto the table with his drink before placing the tray on the groundout of the way. "I'm not sorry I told your father about your magic. He was listed as your legal guardian so when he asked, well he had a right to know the truth."

Thomas shrugged his shoulders then pulled the plate of lasagne closer and started nibbling on the chips. "Dad's sending me to Hogwarts."

"There are other wizarding schools if you would prefer. I could talk to your father."

"But Hogwarts is the best, everyone says so. Harry Potter and the Wesley's went there." Thomas stuffed another chip in his mouth. "I'm going to be a Slytherin aren't I?" he dropped his eyes and focused on the plate. "Dad was a Slytherin."

John took a bite and wondered what the kid actually wanted to say. "Yeah, I went to Hogwarts you know. Gryffindor," he added when Thomas looked at him.

"Oh," said Thomas as he chewed. "Mum said the kids at school called him a warlock. Do you know what that means?"

"Warlock, well it means easily influenced by evil." John sliced into his roast beef. "Look, your dad was different, he was brilliant not like the rest of us kids. He would correct the teacher's mistakes and the rest of us thought that as just plain weird so we used to call Sherlock the weirdo warlock. It didn't mean anything."

Thomas picked up his fork and started eating his salad. "Were you in his class?"

"No," said John with a small smile as he remembered long forgotten school days. "I started after Mycroft but before your dad arrived. But everyone knew the two brothers because they were a force of nature. Mycroft got called the perfect prefect, looking back I think he was a bit OCD. When your father started school he was like anti OCD. He could walk into a completely clean room and leave with a mess everywhere. I think that's how he got the name warlock because everyone saw Mycroft as perfect and by default Sherlock ended up on the side of chaos and evil." He took a sip of his cider. "I just regret leaving school before Harry arrived."

"Do you think I'll be…?"

"No," interrupted John firmly. "You are not a warlock."

Thomas stared directly at John's face. "But I used magic on people who love me for my advantage. Uncle Mycroft said I was very bad."

"What did your dad say?"

"He said I couldn't trust my mother to teach me anything because it would just get me into trouble. Then he said charms were a low form of magic and I should pay more attention to potions."

John smiled as he ate. He could hear Sherlock being snotty and outraged at his ex-wife. "Then you'll need to learn from this experience and become a better person," he said firmly. "If you get placed in Slytherin house it won't stop you acting like a badger or being a good person in your heart, or even being nice to other people."

"My dad's never nice to other people."

"Trust me," said John. "Being nice to other people has nothing to do with being a Slytherin and everything to do with being Sherlock."

"Yeah?" said Thomas his eyes fill of hope.

"Yeah," agreed John. He once again picked up his knife and fork again and tucked into his roast beef.

"Grace said when Slytherins learn the dark arts at school it turns them bad."

John wondered where the kids got this stuff. "All children learn defence from the dark arts, not the dark arts. What you do with it is up to you." He cut a piece of pumpkin and ran it through the gravy before popping it into his mouth and chewing. There was silence while Thomas thought about what had been said.

Thomas starting eating his lasagne with some passion. "Oh. I'm sorry about the spell. I didn't mean any harm."

Liar, thought John. But Thomas was a good kid, well he hoped Thomas was a good kid and the point of school was to teach youngsters how to control their power well away from other people. John always longed to use his magic during the school holidays and he was well aware that accidents happened. "What have you been up to?" John said to change the subject. He wasn't reconciled with the fact Thomas was able to influence his actions where experienced adults couldn't.

"Shopping, I start Hogwarts on Monday."

John smiled, "that's exciting. I remember shopping with my parents. It was a big deal finally following in my sister's footsteps and getting sent to Hogwarts." John pushed some peas onto his fork. "I made them get the wand first in case we ran out of money. I think I was worried someone else would get it first." John's smile faded when he noted the flash of unhappiness across the young boy's face.

"Thomas what happened?" said John gently.

"Dad got us thrown out of the shop," said Thomas softly.

John blinked, opened his mouth then closed it again. "Well," he said. "That doesn't happen every day." He had never known anyone personally who was thrown out of Ollivanders but there were always rumours. Wizards, and witches who became obsessed with too many wands in the one place. Too much power searching for a perfect match. "What do you intend to do?"

Thomas shrugged.

"Well, there are other wand shops you know."

"But the family always buy their wands from Ollivanders. Everyone knows they are the best and if I turn up at school with a wand from somewhere else the kids will know I'm inferior."

John frowned, his first wand had been purchased second hand from his uncle's wand repair shop. Second hand because wands were expensive and the family had to fund two children at school. John didn't get his first new wand until aged 23. Until then he had scavenged wands left on the battle field. The wands he found then sold to finance his healing degree. But then the Watson's didn't live in the social heights as the Holmes family.

"Uncle Mycroft could help me but his so busy and Uncle Greg is a muggle," said Thomas. "I could ask my mum but I don't want to wait until she gets back from Europe. Anyway dad's still angry about the charm spell so I don't want to make things worse. I'm already behind in my lessons and I need to practise with my wand." Thomas played with his food. "I don't suppose you would take me Dr Watson. Just to get me started, you don't have to stay."

John felt a slight pressure of an enchanted appeal. Now he knew what to look for the child's magic was easy to evade. Thomas really needed to be in school as soon as possible.

"Please," pleaded Thomas. "I can't go in with just Mink, I need an adult."

"Mink?"

"Dad's senior house elf, he's gone to check that dad is still OK in the book store. Not hungry," he added at John's look to explain his father's absence.

John sighed, it wasn't as if he had a lot to do. "Alright, just let me finish my lunch and we will be off as soon as Mink is back."

John made Thomas eat everything on his plate and then have a desert. The child laughed and told John all about his morning. "Are you sure your father won't mind," he asked the millionth time. Buying a child's first wand seemed a very personal affair not to be missed by a parent. But what did John know. Both Thomas and Mink when he returned, assured John that Sherlock wouldn't be upset in the slightest. The house elf should know thought John. "So you would never obey an order that would make Master Sherlock unhappy?"

"Oh no Sir, Mink a good elf Sir. Mink trusted with money and nephew of Master Mycroft. Mink given instructions to help purchase everything on list. Sir is very kind to provide assistance which is much appreciated."

So John gave in and agreed to help Thomas get a wand. If not at Ollivanders then they could go to other less prestigious shop. If Thomas found a possible wand they could put it on hold for his father's approval. Mink pulled out the list with the crossed off items to see what else was needed. They all huddled around the page with its suggestions and John checked the directions on the back. Soon the little band left the inn, turned left and walked down the down the alley back towards Ollivanders.

On the way John stopped at a sweet shop where they brought a large pile of chocolate frogs and other assorted lollies. John paid, his treat because it wasn't every day a child started at Hogwarts but he made Thomas promise to take at least half the sweets back to school to share with his class mates. Thomas grinned, took a few for himself and gave the rest to Mink who made them disappear. Thomas was in a much better mood as they continued down the alley looking in all the windows. Unlike Sherlock John didn't mind waiting while Thomas stopped at a shop with dragon tee-shirts displayed in the window. They wandered inside and found the rack for kid sizes large and John even made Thomas look at the men's rack small. John's mum always brought clothing a few sizes too big.

"Can I have this one," asked Thomas holding up a blue tee-shirt with a picture of a thestral. The skeleton horse was running with its wings spread as if ready to spring into flight.

John agreed and checked to make sure it fitted. "What about this one," he said holding up a snake.

Thomas shook his head. But John noticed the gleam in his eyes. "Why not?"

"Slytherin," whispered Thomas and pulled his hand back to stop himself touching the material.

"I'm a doctor and it looks like a medical snake to me," said John turning the tee-shirt around to look at the picture.

Thomas gave him a distrustful look but in the end they got one snake, two thestrals and a sweatshirt with a hedgehog. At another shop Mink found socks, underwear and sleepwear and when John suggested a raincoat it was added to the pile.

"Out," demanded a voice as John stepped into Ollivanders. John looked around then realised the women behind the counter was talking to his party. Mink hunched low and Thomas took a step back. The few people in the shop turned and stared. "I'm not having you and that man in this shop again. If you don't leave right this instant I'll call the constable."

John felt Thomas move behind his left shoulder as if in need of protection. "I think you have made a mistake," he said in a soft but firm voice. "I haven't been in here before."

The women opened her mouth but John interrupted. "This is Thomas Holmes of the Homes family. I don't think your employer would be impressed if he left without a chance to purchase a wand from this establishment."

The witch glared, her eyes flicking between John and Thomas then searching behind them. At last satisfied that Sherlock was not hiding ready to spring into the shop she motioned them closer.

They went through a lot of wands but none spoke to Thomas or gave a flicker of sparks. Thomas waved and twirled, flicked and circled but not a single wand produced a puff of magic.

"I would like to go home now," said Thomas roughly forty minutes later. Mink was helping the shop assistant tidy away the discarded wands back into their correct boxes. He quickly hopped down off the stool and put the last of his boxes on the counter.

"Just a bit longer," said John. "There's still lots of wands you can try." But he could see the young wizard was getting tired and disheartened. To tell the truth John was too, maybe they should try somewhere else.

"It's getting late," said Thomas. "I'm sure father is getting worried."

John couldn't disagree, Sherlock may have been a moron for how he treated his son but in his own way Sherlock cared. This was the second visit to the stop and John had never considered it would take this long to locate a suitable wand. John may have thought Sherlock was an idiot with the attention son of a gnat but maybe Thomas did have a magic deficiency. When he returned home he would consult his medical books just in case. Maybe Sherlock hadn't been as impatient as John had thought.

"Oh, don't stop now, this is just getting exciting."

Both Thomas and John jumped at the sound of Sherlock's voice from the shadows. John wondered how he had failed to notice Sherlock's large vibrant personality enter the shop. He wasn't the only one.

"Out," yelled the witch. "Out, I will not have you in my shop."

"Ignore him Thomas," said Sherlock not moving. "John make the badger, I want to see it."

"The what?"

"The badger John, from the surgery, do pay attention. Why do I always have to repeat myself? Does anybody listen anymore?" Sherlock walked forward. "Thomas, hand."

Thomas, knowing what his father wanted put out his arm and waited with his palm cupped. "Or Tinkerbelle if you really must but I would prefer the badger," whispered Thomas in John's direction.

"Well, I haven't got all day." Sherlock stared at John peevishly waiting for something to happen.

"I... Well..." John glanced around the room. The few people in the shop were looking in his direction drawn by the drama of raised voices. Feeling self-conscious, he decided it would be a lot easier if he just obeyed. Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes, concentrated hard then tapped his wand on the extended palm conscious of being watched. The illusions seemed a lot easier in his surgery with a sick child where no one cared about the outcome. The badger appeared and because John was annoyed at Sherlock he decided to show off just a little. The badger danced, first on four legs then on two, it's hind quarters swinging to the beat as it lifted one foot after the other. There was a small applause when he finished. John grinned secretly pleased with his achievement.

"May I?" Sherlock held out his hand for John's wand. As John was trying to decide if he trusted Sherlock with his wand it was whipped away from his fingers.

Sherlock sighted down the length, gave it a sniff and a quick lick which caused Thomas to go eeewww. John flinched as the wand was tapped on the counter before Sherlock waived it in the air like a conductor with a baton. Nothing happened at first, not that John was expecting anything because the wand belonged to John and not Sherlock but slowly on floor appeared fifty badgers in formation. They all danced one paw at a time in slow motion.

"No magic allowed in the shop," shrieked the witch behind the counter who tapped a sign with her wand to prove her point. She stood glaring, her wand at the ready to stop anything that got out of control.

The badgers disappeared.

"That was brilliant," said John grinning. The illusion was much better when he had time to observe the show and not concentrate a patient's medical treatment.

"Do you think so?" asked Sherlock with a shy smile. "That's not what most people say."

"What do most people say?" asked John.

"Sod off," said Thomas as he jumped off his seat. "Most people don't like it when he nicks their wands."

"Yeah, but fifty badgers," said John still enthralled and not caring about his nicked wand.

"Forty eight." Sherlock continued to study the wand between his fingers. "I couldn't quite mange the last two. And at least three were sloppy with their paw work."

Still, thought John, forty eight badgers all dancing individually at once but not an obvious mirror image of each other. That was some pretty impressive magic from a strange wand. Sherlock may have brushed it off but John was still secretly enthralled. "You shouldn't lick other people's wands. You don't know where they've been," said John.

"Peach wood, three stands of horse hair, Pegasus, theyala and," Sherlock frowned annoyed he was unable to name the last type of horse.

"Horse," said John. "Stallion non magical."

"Oh," said Sherlock fascinated. "Life, death and disabled, all interwoven. And peach wood, interesting choice, beautifully made. It's firm but with a good weight and not too springy. A no nonsense wand." Sherlock looked directly into John's eyes, "There is nothing wrong with the wand but you knew that. You worked in a wand repair shop, owned by your mother, no, an uncle in your mother's side. The money financed your medical studies. You allow yourself to believe you need this wand because you think yourself as crippled and people are so stupid." Sherlock held the wand out to Thomas who just looked at it. "Well, waiting. Go on," he said as Thomas took the wand. "Wave it about."

So Thomas waved the wand about with lacklustre enthusiasm. A spark of light dribbled out of the end and everyone in the shop discretely winced as the spark plopped onto the floor. Thomas blinked in a startled manner, stood up straighter and with a look of deep concentration started drawing patterns in the air. Sparks started following the tip.

"Do you have apple tree with hedgehog," Sherlock asked the shop assistant "Or plum with griffin?" The shop assistant looked at Sherlock as if he was mental but disappeared out the back of the shop. She came back with a stack of wands. All from fruit trees she declared.

"I want this one," stated Thomas twenty minutes later clutching the wand to his chest.

"Excellent choice," said Sherlock as if the choice had been so obvious from the start.

"Hey," said John. "That's my wand."

"How much do you want for it?"

"Wands choose people, you can't have my wand."

"Romantic rubbish put about to sell more wands. Wands are enchanted to choose the most favourable person otherwise Ollivanders would never sell a wand to seventy eight per cent of the people entering this shop. Do you know how many wands are made each year? How many broken and unable to be repaired let alone the wands handed down by families who can't afford a new one for their children."

"But it's mine."

"And now this wand has chosen Thomas. This isn't your first wand so simply choose another. I'll cover the expense," Sherlock observed the look on Johns face. "Or if you have an emotional attachment I'll arrange for a copy to be made."

"But,"

Sherlock sighed then moved behind Thomas and placed his hands on his son's shoulders. "Dr Watson as a healer, do you consider it reasonable for a sensitive eleven year old child to start school without a wand. A child who has already missed the beginning of term and is likely be subject to mockery by his peers."

Thomas gave a sniff and his lip trembled as he wiped his eyes, the wand still clutched to his chest.

"A child whose mother abandoned him to..."

"Alright, enough, he can have the wand on loan only. It's not like I use it very much."

"Well done Thomas," said Sherlock patting his son's shoulder. "But I though the tears were a bit over the top."

"You think so," Thomas grinned and looked up at his father. "I thought it was very Hufflepuff."

And John knew he had been conned by experts.

Sherlock's attention turned back to the boxes stacked along the wall. He walked along running his fingers over the outside of the boxes as he scanned the written words. Choosing one, he pulled it from the pile and only Mink's quick reactions stopped the stack from toppling to the ground. Opening the box Sherlock inspected the wand before handing it to Dr Watson. "I suggest you try this one."

"What is it?" John flicked his wrist and a graceful beam of light swirled through the room.  
Sherlock smirked, "tee tree with dragon quill, a strange combination but much better suited to your personality as a healer and soldier. Well, must be off. Mink, settle all accounts."

"Oh yes master." Mink hurried to the counter and made a bag of coins appear while Thomas placed John's old wand into the empty box to be wrapped. When the transaction was completed Thomas hugged the brown paper package tied with string to his chest.

"Bye Dr Watson. Thank you for all your help." Thomas said politely and followed his father out the door.

"Master would like to thank John Watson for his assistance, very grateful," said Mink, who bowed then hurried after his two Master's.

John was left standing in Ollivanders with the witch asking if he wanted his wand gift wrapped. He didn't know if on principle he should demand his old wand back or keep the new one. Wands from Ollivanders were expensive but the wand had already been paid for.

"Ollivanders has a thirty day return policy."

John looked at the wand sitting on the counter and rubbed his fingers along the wood. The tea tree wand was a very, very nice and much more powerful than his previous wand. The shape was comfortable in his hand and the energy flowed from the tip light as a feather. Maybe if he tried he could get fifty badgers to dance.

"I'll take it," said John picking up the wand. "Don't bother with any wrapping."

"All wands are guaranteed for up to ten years," said the lady and pushed a card across the counter.


	8. Chapter 8

"Dr Watson, please come this way?"

John paused and looked at the female witch standing in his path. "Why?"

"Because I asked, nicely'" she said. Her eyes flicked to his face once then back down to her pad.

John looked around wondering if this was some sort of joke. Woman didn't usually speak to him in the middle of a London footpath. She didn't look very dangerous in her short mini skirt and heels.

"Please don't make me threaten you," said the woman.

"Right then." Without looking she turned and walked away leaving John to follow. She had very nice legs, thought John as they walked. After about three minutes she turned right, went up three steps and thru a door which she held open for John. He hesitated. It was kind of bizarre being asked to follow a complete stranger. There was nothing strange on the street, nothing out of place so he stepped forward.

"Thank you," said the witch. She waited a heartbeat until John relaxed, closed the door behind him and gestured politely towards the fireplace.

"Where exactly are we going?" asked John. He looked around the room, it was nice with wooden floors and pastel wallpaper. Nothing special except for the fact it could do with a bit of furniture. He couldn't see anything especially dangerous either. The only thing that tingled his spider senses was the woman. But John had learned long ago never to be led blindly anywhere. Blame the war but he didn't have a high sense of trust when it came to strange situations.

The woman made eye contact once more and smiled in a very calm polite way. "Ministry of Transport," she said in a clear bell tone and flicked her wrist. There was a puff of smoke.

John dived to the side, and found himself rolling across the floor trying to see. Too slow, too damn slow, he thought. Pain splintered through his knee as it made contact with a wall but at least he had stopped rolling. The wood under his fingertips now felt like carpet. He twisted to put his back flat against the wall as he blinked to clear his sight. The fireplace was behind him to his right and a hallway to his left. He couldn't see the woman. Instinctively he pulled out his wand and held it in a defensive position as he took a deep breath. Sometimes he hated witchcraft. Typical, body typical, at his age he should know better than to trust a great pair of legs. Down the rabbit hole thought John. Now if he could just work out who the mad hatter was.

"Dr Watson just the person I wanted to see. Do walk this way."

Where did he come from? John tried not to react to the voice. "Where am I?"

"The Ministry of Transport," said the man dressed in a suit.

"The Ministry of Transport? What am I doing here?" he glanced around. It didn't look like the Ministry of Transport but what would he know? It wasn't as if he popped in often but he had imagined the Ministry would have more people.

The man blinked, "because I have proposal that may be worth your while financially. Now if you want to come this way, I would prefer to discuss this in private."

"Why?" John wasn't sure he liked this. The whole situation seemed a little, well off.

"All in good time."

John couldn't think of why anyone at the Ministry of Transport who would want to talk to him. Maybe they had the wrong person. John Watson was a common name. He didn't own a broom, only used public fireplaces and hadn't even used the blue bus recently. He winced as he pushed himself to his feet. His knee made its displeasure felt as he rubbed at a bruise.

"Mycroft Holmes," said the man as he walked away confident that John would follow.

Mycroft, thought John. The only Mycroft Holmes that John knew was Sherlock's brother. John tried not to limp as he followed behind. The bastard didn't even pause to check John was all right, he had just stated his name and walked away. The mere thought of Sherlock made John's frustration bubble to the surface. "Your brother stole my wand," he complained again to the back in front of him. Sherlock couldn't just walk around stealing wands even if it was for a good cause. And Mycroft couldn't go around stealing people off the street, it was the height of rudeness. What was it with this family?

"Do take a seat Doctor."

"Sherlock stole my wand," he repeated as he walked through the door. A table with four chairs, just a typical meeting room. Bit of a disappointment really.

"Yes I heard you the first time. Shall I arrange for a replacement? Don't worry, I will of course send the account to Sherlock."

"But I don't want a new one. I want my old one back." John almost winced at the whine in his voice. What was he, three? No, he told himself, there was a principle involved.

Mycroft eyes glanced down to John's right hand where it tightly gripped a wand "I would have thought your new wand suited you much better, battle ready one would say."

"It's the principle of the thing. Sherlock can't go around stealing people's wands. It's morally wrong." John pulled his spine straight and held his wand next to his leg. He didn't feel comfortable enough to put it away.

"Tell him that," muttered Mycroft. "He steals mine all the time."

"What was that?"

Mycroft relaxed behind the table and motioned John to take a seat. "When I return to my office Doctor, I shall lay a complaint with the Minister on your behalf. I'm sure someone will be in touch to discuss the situation. We at the Ministry, take magic stealing very seriously."

John knew a political answer when he heard one and he didn't get the impression that lodging an official complaint would do any good. The complaint form would probably be filed in the rubbish bin before the ink was even dry. He wondered if he was being childish. No he wasn't, he thought. If Sherlock had just asked to borrow the wand John would have agreed. He wasn't heartless to a child's plight. But, well, he just wanted to be asked.

"If this discussion isn't about my wand then why am I here?" said John not understanding. Ever since the name Thomas Holmes had appeared on his appointment schedule he had been on the back foot. He had been charmed against his will by the child, his wand had been stolen by the father and now he had been kidnapped by the uncle. How had his life had got so complicated?

"Missing children, Slytherin house and possibly the war."

When it came to Slytherin there was only one war. "The war's finished Mycroft. All the battles have been fought."

"That is where you are wrong Doctor, may I call you John? I feel as we have been acquainted for years," said Mycroft. "There are always wars to be fought, if only with words."

"So this isn't about Sherlock?" said John seeking clarification.

"No, not everything is about my brother. Like I said, I have a proposal for you. I need you to investigate the disappearance of some children. Naturally I shall pay for your time."

John looked around the room. It looked, well the only word he could think of was posh but then he had never been to the Ministry of Transport. "Why me, why not someone official."

"Time sensitive and you have proven your skill when dealing with Sherlock. If you can deal with him, I dare say you can deal with anyone."

"But I'm not..."

"Who will save the children if not you John? Who will care for the squibs?"

"The Ministry, it's what we pay our taxes for isn't it?"

Disappointment flicked across Mycroft's face as if John had somehow failed a test. "Politicians turn their backs on the most disadvantaged for the greater good all the time Doctor Watson." Mycroft pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, opened it and placed it on the table. "This is a list of eight names, eight children John who failed to arrive at Hogwarts."

"And you want me to what? Investigate?" John automatically took the piece if paper and looked at the names. They meant nothing to John. Just names on a piece of paper. "You do know I'm a doctor."

People overlooked squibs, he thought. Even in this enlightened age the best pure blood families hid them away. He remembered at school people saying Neville Longbottom had been pushed out a window by his uncle all because the family thought he was a squib. As a kid John laughed because it was a bloody funny story. Until he learned the story was real and suddenly it didn't seem so funny anymore. Being pushed out a window to plunge to your death if your magical abilities didn't appear just seemed cruel. How many children were killed every year because they didn't meet their family's expectations? How many children didn't bounce? Didn't he fight in a war to stop this crap happening to people?

"Sherlock has already volunteered his time but alas, Sherlock is a Slytherin while you John are a Gryffindor. You distinguished yourself fighting with the 5th Lightfoot in Wales. People will see you as a hero, as a person who cares and may I say, a bit of a do gooder," Mycroft leaned closer and smiled. "But best of all John, people won't see you as a threat."

John felt a shiver run down his spine and tried not to move away from Mycroft. He hated it when people considered him a hero for doing his job. There was a reason he spent his life hiding in London. "As I said, Voldemort is dead. The war is over." He folded the piece of paper and placed it on the table between them. That way he wouldn't see the names.

"Then all you need to do is ask eight families why their child failed to start school. Easy, even for you Doctor Watson. No magic required," Mycroft smirked. "Some of them even come from muggle families."

John remained silent unsure what he wanted to do. His eyes automatically fell onto the piece of paper between them. There were professionals who did this sort of thing.

"I suggest you think about the offer and if you find yourself interested please feel free to attend this meeting." Mycroft pushed a flyer across the table towards John's hand.

John glanced at the page. Annual general meeting of the Society of Squids, he read. Upstairs at St Paul's coffee house, Pauls Ally at 7.00 pm. A light supper will be served. A pair of footsteps walked across the map into the shadow of the great cathedral and disappeared thru a door.

Child abuse was just another form of evil in John's book. He could take a look, maybe ask some questions. How hard could this assignment be? He thought of the three days he spent at the surgery. Three days at six hours each day made a total of eighteen hours per week. That left plenty of hours needing to be filled in. Sometimes less if he was lucky enough to be called in to cover an extra shift. How many times had he stayed late to delay his return home? Would hurt to take a look, just a quick look because he wasn't a fool and he didn't completely trust Mycroft.

"The Government will be employing me?" And if he found something then well, someone more appropriate could take over.

"Actually John you will be representing the Honeypot Trust. Forgive me if I didn't make myself clear."

John looked at Mycroft's smiling face and felt the trap snap shut. John knew damn well he man had failed to mention any connection with the Trust. Honeypot was well known in the wizarding world of gifting money to strange causes and John had been a recipient. Dr Watson might have learned his medical skills on the battlefield but when he returned home he found the real world was paranoid about written qualifications. It had been easier to sit the required exams at St Bartholomew's than fake his degree. But medical exams took money and time.

"I'll need some time to think about it."

"Don't take too long will you, the meeting is tomorrow."

John tapped his fingers on the table then pick up the flyer. He wouldn't be pushed into a quick decision. John owed the Honeypot Trust his medical degree. The loan had been a godsend and he would lay odds that Mycroft bloody Holmes knew that too.

"This is important John or I wouldn't ask."

John looked at the flyer then stuck it into his pocket and took his leave. As John walked home he thought of all the hours of boredom. It wouldn't hurt to take a quick look. For the Trust he told himself, because the Trust had provided in a time of need. He certainly was not going to the meeting for either Mycroft or his brother.

John spent the day trying to decide what to do and in the end he flipped a coin, tails he would go home and heads go to the meeting. He felt a bit of excitement when the coin came up heads.

:

:

:

The coffee shop smelt of coffee and cake. Large bowls of chips sat on tables, slowly being consumed one handed as people used the internet. Some customers looked like regulars and others looked like tourists who wandered into the warmth seeking food after a long hard day of sightseeing. John nodded to the bored looking shop assistant wiping down the counter as he walked out the back and up the wooden staircase. At the top there was a sheet of paper stuck to one of the doors. In large black letters was written AGM, closed for a private function. There was no indication who the group within were so John pushed the heavy wooden door open. It squeaked causing heads to turn his way and he noted the meeting had already started. He hadn't meant to be late except he had walked the wrong way around St Pauls Cathedral which added considerable distance when searching down alleyways. He tried to muffle the sound of the door closing but silence never works when trying to be discreet. Conscious of his lateness he gave a quick glance around the room to get this bearings. At the front was a table where a man and a woman sat. He estimated there was seating for about forty people but most of the seats were empty. Greg and Mycroft sat on one side of the room surrounded by five people dressed in what John would describe as afterhours business suits. Greg smiled and nodded in his direction before he turned his attention back to the speaker at the front of the room. There were about another nine people scattered around in ones and two's. Heads turned again as the door clicked closed as if annoyed at the interruption. He looked for seat where he could sit unnoticed at the back. There were plenty of choices.

"John, over here."

At the sound of his name John's attention snapped towards the person who called and spotted Sherlock. Naturally the man had chosen to sit on the opposite side of the room from his brother.

"I saved you a seat," Sherlock said in a loud clear voice and gestured madly in his direction.

John cringed, it was hardly necessary to save a seat considering the number of available seats that were empty. But not wanting to cause a scene John walked forward and entered Sherlock's row. He sat leaving a large, but not rude, gap between them.

"You are late," hissed Sherlock who stood up and moved the two seats closer to John before once more taking his seat. "Mycroft is being very annoying," he huffed completely ignoring the women at the font who was frowning in their direction.

John tried to follow the discussion and realised they were only up to the finances of the Society. Nothing important missed then.

"I object," said a man in front row.

Mycroft stood and addressed the Chairperson. "You will find that our fees were paid some months ago along with a large cash donation."

"Oh, that was you?" said the Chairlady who tapped a pen on the desk as she leant over and whispered to the man seated next to her who was flicking through a battered green leather ledger. Every so often they looked in Mycroft's direction then whispered again as they eyed Mycroft with suspicion.

"I also have in my hand the signatures of four proxy votes," he said in a louder voice. "By my calculation that brings my voting block to ten."

"What exactly do you want?" she asked again.

"I vote we..."

"Do shut up a sit down Sherlock," said Mycroft without even looking in his brother's direction.

"What's going on?" whispered John as Sherlock once more took his seat.

"Mycroft is playing games as usual," huffed Sherlock.

The meeting progressed at pace, weather it was the thought of supper at its conclusion or Mycroft's ability with his 10 votes to cut through the crap, John wasn't too sure. At last they reached general business.

"Mr Holmes if you would please speak to your motion," said the Chairperson.

Mycroft stood by his chair to address the meeting forcing the other members to turn in his direction. "The Honeypot Trust has been entrusted to investigate the whereabouts of any child who failed to start school at Hogwarts this year and depending on the results of said investigation, any previous years if deemed necessary. Mr Lestrade here," Mycroft turned to indicate Greg sitting next to him. "Is the President of Muggles for Magic, a society which assists muggle parents with their magical children."

"We aren't muggles," objected a man sitting close to the door. "And we don't want to be muggles. We are wizarding folk here. This muggle stuff is none of our business."

There were a few ayes and nods from around the room which Mycroft ignored. Greg tugged on this lovers hand and forced Mycroft to take his seat once more.

Greg then stood and addressed the chair. "Madam Chairperson," he said and nodded in her direction. "Look everyone knows kids not at school cause trouble in the community. I'm not magical and some of these kids come from families who aren't magical. So it makes it hard to understand what Hogwarts means to people like you. I want these children found and helped and the Honeypot Trust has agreed to assist." Greg looked around the room at the huddled figures. "But I'm realistic enough to know that some of these kids aren't wizards or witches or whatever you call yourselves. I object to kids being abused and that includes being thrown out of windows or pushed off brooms or whatever a parent is doing to activate a kid's magical powers. Children are dying when they don't have too and I would have thought dead children was the concern of everyone in this room. This isn't the dark ages. Kids can be interviewed to assess their abilities. If the kids aren't magical then I believe the parents should still be held accountable for the safety of their children. If these kids aren't safe in their own home, it's up to us to make sure they are safe, yeah." A few heads nodded. "This Society has the ability to say enough, no more child abuse, no more cruelty. Maybe we don't find anything this year and maybe not next year but if we even manage to save one child from dying then I think it is worth the effort to try." Speech finished Greg sat down again and gripped Mycroft's hand quickly before letting go.

"And who exactly is going to be leading this investigation?" said the Chairperson.

"I am," said Sherlock bouncing up again before John could stop him. "Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson here will assist me in this endeavour." John cringed as the room turned to look but Sherlock just tugged on John's arm forcing him to his feet. John nodded at everyone and tried to smile.

"What exactly are your qualifications gentlemen?"

"Consulting detective," said Sherlock. "And John was an army surgeon, currently working as a muggle doctor in London. As a Gryffindor, he will be invaluable in my quest for justice for these missing children. No stone shall go unturned in our desire to seek the children's entrance to the hallowed halls of Hogwarts."

"Related to him are you," said the chairperson and pointed her pencil in Mycroft's direction but before Sherlock could comment she said, "You shut up and sit down. I've heard enough from both of you today. Dr Watson please stand and explain, in words of one syllable if you could, what exactly is going on."

John stood and looked around the room as he waited for Sherlock to give up and take a seat. "Damned if I know," said John and stood on Sherlock's foot to stop him jumping up again. "All I know is the Honeypot wants the kids investigated and as far as I'm concerned what Honeypot wants Honeypot gets. The Trust has offered to cover all the expenses within reason so it's not going to cost the Society anything. We all know the Trust and we all know it likes to have community support for its projects so I guess that's why we are all here. Greg can deal with the non-magical families and I think the Trust wants you to deal with the magical ones."

John paused collecting his thoughts before proceeding. "Look I know that Mycroft is a bit overbearing with his ten votes but until just recently his nephew showed no signs of magical abilities. Naturally the family thought the worst. Just be grateful this week his nephew got his invitation to Hogwarts. Some kids are late bloomers, some kids are slow at developing their potential and some kids have a health condition which holds them back. But whatever the reason these children need our help. I'm sure there's people in this room who understand what it's like to be treated differently. So, if a child has to be removed from their family then maybe with your connections you could arrange a foster family."

A hand was half raised at the front, "I could take a child."

"Thank you," he said and with nothing else to say, sat down.

"Does anyone else want to speak to the motion? Right then, everyone in favour raise their hand."

Of course the vote passed thought John later that evening as he took a bit out of a very nice piece of carrot cake. John had been given one of the absentee votes by Mycroft to cast as he saw fit. Sherlock caused a disruption by claiming the scrutineer was biased and therefore should be dismissed from his job. But Mycroft with his block of ten votes got exactly what he wanted, an investigation into one of the most powerful families in England.


	9. Chapter 9

"John," the day nurse popped her head around the door. "There's a man waiting for you in reception. He doesn't have an appointment but he says he knows you and its personal, not work related. Said his name is Sherlock Holmes."

John's work schedule was finished for the day but he still had a ton of paperwork to catch up on. An emergency with an asthmatic child had put him completely behind. John frowned and looked at his watch. "Tell him to wait," said John as he turned back to his computer. What did the mad bugger want? Very quickly he found he couldn't concentrate.

Annoyed with himself John pushed his chair back and walked to reception determined to tell Sherlock to come back later.

"What are you doing here," John asked softly trying to ignore the other patients in the waiting room.

Sherlock looked up from his magazine saw John and stood up. "Do hurry up Dr Watson. We need to be leaving, important things to do."

John opened this mouth then closed it when he noticed old Mr Roberts listening in on what essentially was John's personal business. "Come this way," he said. If he was going to have words with Sherlock he would rather have them in the privacy of his own room.

Sherlock followed but stopped in front of one of the patients in the waiting room and handed the magazine to her. "Page 24, there's excellent article on immunization and whooping cough," he said before once again following John into his office. "Ah, a computer, I always wanted to buy one of these." He seated himself in front of the computer, leaned over and pulled the keyboard closer then started typing. Information flashed up on the screen.

"No." John poked Sherlock's shoulder to get him to move. "Get out of my seat you bloody git. That's private and password protected. How did you get in?"

"Obvious," muttered Sherlock and with great reluctance he shifted over to the patient's chair. "I don't want to use your stupid computer anyway," Sherlock said as he reached over to pick up an otoscope and stick it in his ear.

"Give that back," snapped John taking the otoscope away from Sherlock and wiping it clean before returning it to its rightful place. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Do use your brain. As a doctor I assume you do have one. What do you think I am doing here?" Sherlock pulled some papers out of his coat and spread them across the desk. "Right then, I have co-ordinated the most efficient search pattern and suggest we start in the north and work our way south stopping in Suffolk, Durham and finishing with London. I estimate it will take approximately two weeks but we need to start immediately."

John looked at the map. It was full of squiggly lines which didn't look very time efficient. "Two weeks, but I only agreed if the investigation fits in my work schedule. Why would it take two weeks? That's almost two days per child and a few of the kids live in London."

"Weather reports John. I've correlated the expected wind direction and speed. There is going to be heavy rain moving south eastward but with patches of chilly clear spells and fog at night. It's much easier on the broom with a back wind but the fog will mean we can travel well into the morning without people seeing us."

John closed his eyes and rubbed fingers across his forehead. A broom, what was the man thinking? Didn't Sherlock realise how long it took to travel by broom from one end of England to the other? "I thought we could travel by train, you know British Rail provides an excellent service. Or fly, you have heard of planes, haven't you? Mycroft did say the Trust would cover any costs within reason." What Mycroft had actually said was don't let Sherlock have the bank card ever, under penalty of death. John wondered if Mycroft had been joking but concluded the answer was no. He doubted Mycroft had a sense of humour.

"Really John, next you will be taking about taking the bus or travelling by floo. Where is the fun in that?"

John took a deep breath. There was no way he would be able to stay on a broom for hours on end even if he did own one. He hadn't been on a broom in years. Feeling calmer he leaned over the list of names once more. "Why is this one at the top of the list? It says here the child is deceased." John tapped his finger on the specific line.

"It should be fairly obvious even to you. The child died in front of ten people. That's ten suspects, plus the house staff and all the local residents. Everyone will need to be thoroughly interviewed to ensure justice is done. Even you should realise the importance of this case."

"But it's hardly urgent. She's been dead five months."

"John I'm ashamed of you. Every minute the killer goes free is a cruel discrimination against the parents just because their child is dead. Just look at the surnames of the family involved. This is a matter of the highest importance."

"Yeah well," said John. "Let's just start in London before you have us flying around the country on broomsticks. This one, Marco Duncan, we can take a taxi from here and have it solved before tea time. Or Alice Cooper, the Docklands isn't far by train and this one lives in Soho.

Sherlock pouted. "Boring. At least pick one of the dead. Fine," he added after looking at Johns annoyed face and deducing the man wouldn't budge. "If you choose the first one then it's only fair that I get to choose the second case. Agreed?"

"Agreed, but only if the child is still breathing. The purpose is to make sure the kids start school not upset their parents. We can investigate the deceased children later when we have more time."

"Excellent," Sherlock stood, folded up his papers and walked to the door. "Do hurry, we don't have all day." With that he gripped the door handle and walked out of the office leaving John scrambling to catch up.

John grabbed his coat and pattered the pocket to make sure the package Mycroft had couriered over earlier as still there. By the time he made it outside the surgery Sherlock had already flagged down a taxi and was leaning through the window talking to the driver. Spotting John he ceased talking and got into the rear of the cab.

The mad bastard wouldn't even move over, forcing John to walk around the cab and slide into a seat before the taxi took off. As he got comfortable it crossed John's mind to wonder if he had enough cash to pay the fare. He was pretty sure Sherlock didn't have any.

"Really John, no need to fret. Honeypot Trust will cover the costs. I sure Mycroft sent you a gold card from Gringotts with a pin already attached. Plastic money, excellent invention but we might need some real currency for the illegal transactions. I'm working on solving the problem."

John blinked at the idea of illegal transactions and pulled the package out of his pocket. Tipping up the envelope he slid out three cards, two sheets of paper and a cell phone. Sherlock reached over but John smacked his hand. "Mine," he said firmly. He placed the bank card into his wallet along with a card from Detective Inspector G Lestrade. He wasn't sure exactly what to do with the two ID cards, one from Ministry of Education stating he was an employee and the other from the Honeypot Trust which had Dr Watson, special consultant was written in small print underneath his picture. It wasn't the fact both ID's had his name and picture but the fact that his signature had been attached before each card was laminated. Bloody Mycroft Holmes. He slid the cards into his pocket.

He shuffled the sheets of paper. One had a list of names and address and John had made some notes in the margin. Sherlock wasn't the only one who liked to plan. The second page had a list of instructions. The first instruction, written on bold black letters was, do not to give the bank card to Sherlock on threat of death. John intended to obey that instruction. The second instruction said no magic. Followed by, this means you Sherlock Holmes so pay attention. Leave your wand behind. Don't forget you are in the muggle world and there are strict laws. This instruction was followed by a telephone number to ring in case of an emergency. John had a feeling he was going to need it.

Overall the instructions seemed very clear. Find the children, discuss the situation and report the findings back to the Mycroft Holmes. John looked once again at the list of names as he envisioned all eight children lined up in the headmaster's office wearing brand new uniforms, looking cute and buzzing with excitement at finally starting at a wizarding school.

"Boring," said Sherlock.

"I beg your pardon."

"School, you were thinking about school, daydreaming probably about your fond memories of what you perceived as the good times, typical."

"How did you know?"

"Obvious, you were looking at the list and smiling. Most likely you were remembering your first days at Hogwarts with all your new Gryffindor friends whom you liked much better than your brother."

"Sister," corrected John automatically. "Didn't you like school? Come on it was great."

"Boring," repeated Sherlock. "The best teachers were idiots and the rest were incompetent morons. Not everyone was a popular, good at sports or had friends."

"So what did you do at school then?"

Sherlock gave John a cold hard look. "I studied," he said and turned once more to look out the window.

:

::

The taxi stopped at a two story terraced house with crystals in the window and a small card which announced tarot card readings available on request. The neighbourhood was pretty in bohemian kind of way. The houses had been renovated and sold to families with kids. Urban renewal thought John looking around as Sherlock rang the bell. Homes for people wanting different lifestyle choices from their parents but who instead just reverted back to their middle class roots as they got older.

No one answered the bell.

"Maybe no one's home."

"Don't be stupid," said Sherlock and pushed the bell again, once, twice, three times in short bursts. They listened to the sound as the ring echo through the house. When the summons failed to be answered Sherlock banged on the door with his fist until the sound of footsteps could be heard on the stairs.

"Hello," said a woman as she opened the door. "Can I help you?"

"Not a client. Sherlock Holmes, Ministry of Education, can we come in?" Sherlock flashed a card in her direction but before she could even read it he pushed past and walked deeper into the house.

"Hey," she yelled conflicted between following Sherlock and staying at the door to stop John's entrance.

"Sorry about that. My name is Dr Watson, Ministry of Education," John said as he tried to stop his annoyance of Sherlock's behaviour colour the tone of his voice. He handed over his identification. "We would like to talk to you about Marco."

Her attention immediately swung back to John. "Marco, has something happened?"

"We don't know. That's what we are trying to clear up. You enrolled Marco at Hogwarts Mrs Duncan but he…."

"Mrs White, Victoria White," interrupted the woman.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I think you want my partner Sasha Duncan but she isn't home. What's this about?"

"Oh, right, well Marco failed to arrive at Hogwarts for the beginning of the school term and no one has contacted the school to explain why." John flashed his 'trust me I'm a doctor' smile. "Do you think we could continue this conversation inside?"

She looked at him, then at the ID card before she stepped back to let him enter. John hunched his shoulders to make himself look less of a threat as he moved past. He heard the door click shut then footsteps following as he walked down the hallway.

They found Sherlock standing in the sitting room staring at a framed photo of the family he held in his hand. Victoria snatched the photo back, gave it careful wipe and replaced it on the side table. "Please have a seat." She waited until they were seated before she politely took her own seat. "Please, what's this about?"

Sherlock peered down his nose. "Not your child but you live here. Close relationship to his mother as verified in the photo but your daughter doesn't like her, interesting. That must make you Victoria White, stupid name. Why isn't Marco at school and where is your daughter?"

Vicki blinked, as if the question was not the one she expected. "He's at Disneyland with his mother."

"Disneyland, doubtful, it's a three hour trip by train, a few days but two weeks at the beginning of term unlikely. His mother just suddenly decides to leave and takes your daughter with her?"

"They went to America, Sasha got cheap tickets. Tickets are always cheaper after the school holidays and we had promised Marco a trip to LA for his birthday. So I agreed." Amber looked between Sherlock and John. "I agreed both children could go with Sasha to America for two weeks."

"And then what?" asked Sherlock.

"What do you mean?" she cringed and placed her hand on her throat.

"You call yourself a witch?" Sherlock sneered. "When they return, what happens then?"

The woman sat up straighter. "I knew you would come. I warned Sasha but she wouldn't listen."

"Yes of course you did yet you failed to answer the door in a timely manner. Your lover is an herbalist while you make money as a fortune teller. How is the stock market today?"

"As a white witch, we pledge no harm."

"But you still haven't answered my question."

"Sasha wants to home school the children. We intend to start Marco's lessons as soon as he returns. We aren't stupid."

"And you agreed?"

"Of course I agreed. Why wouldn't I agree?"

"I didn't think Slytherin produced white witches, Salazar Slytherin must be turning in his grave. And as for home schooling, witchcraft is forbidden outside the wizarding world. What exactly do you intend to teach him."

John frowned in Sherlock's direction. It looked like a nice household and though John disapproved of home schooling as a general rule, it was none of their business as long as the child lived in a safe family environment. "When do you expect them back?" he interrupted in a soft voice.

"Who?"

"Marco and your daughter," snapped Sherlock then clicked his fingers. "Come on, I don't have all day."

"Oh, they should be back on Saturday. It was only for two weeks."

Sherlock looked around the room then stared back at the woman before he stood up. "See that you do," he stated before he marched back towards the front door.

John gave Sherlock's retreating back a confused look. What did Sherlock even mean by that statement? It didn't make sense. John turned his attention back to Vicki, reached into his pocket and pulled out a card which he handed over. "Have you heard of the Honeypot Trust?" The woman nodded and looked down at the card gripped in her fingers. "We will need to come back and confirm everything is OK with Marco but based on what you said there shouldn't be a problem. But if you need anything, financial assistance or just need to chat about things, please ring the number. Someone will be happy to help." He took the card back and wrote Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson on the back. "They can also confirm we really are who we say we are and I'm sure they can even provide information on home schooling if you need it." It seemed to John that home schooling was something that the Trust was likely to support.

"John hurry up, we don't have all day."

Vicki looked up and smiled. "Thank you," she said as they both stood and walked slowly to the door. "But there's nothing wrong with our relationship and the children are perfectly happy and safe. I'm going to pick them up at the airport on Saturday and Sasha will teach Marcos everything he needs to know about being a good wizard. We don't need your assistance. There are people out there much worse off than us. You should keep the card for someone who really needs it."

She tried to give back the card but John refused to take it. He could always get more. Sadly, John realised nothing he could say would make a difference so John said his good byes and joined Sherlock on the footpath.

"Boring," said Sherlock as the door closed behind John. He started pacing down the street only to stop and suddenly twirl. "Completely. Utterly. Boring. Why did I sign up for this drivel? Disneyland, the child isn't at school because his mother took him on holiday to America. France is three hours away but no, his mother had to take him to America. How mundane but what else could you expect from two new age witches?"

"You were very rude in there Sherlock."

"Mycroft promised drama, excitement and trills. But what do I get. The child isn't at Hogwarts because his parents want to home school him. Do you think I wanted to go to school? I wanted to stay at home but mommy said I was too bright to waste my time at home and school was good for my socialisation skills."

John thought that school had been a bit of a failure for Sherlock's social skills because they still needed a lot of work. "Well it's not as though you asked any in depth questions Sherlock. For all we know Marcos was killed and buried in the back garden."

"Do you think so?" Sherlock's eyes widened with glee. "Really, yes, why didn't I consider the possibility? The father would have done it of course, jealously due to the marriage breakup and finding out he fathered both children finally tipping the scales."

He took a step back towards the door but John grabbed his arm to stop him. "No you don't. You have already upset that woman enough for one day. I was just saying. You didn't question the lady, you interrogated her demanding answers."

"Then why did you imply it could have been murder?"

"I'm just saying, if you want to solve your murder mystery you have to look below the surface. You can't just take the persons word for it."

"I hardly trusted her word John." Sherlock observed Johns disbelief. "Unlike yourself, you were practically fawning over her."

"I was not. Well maybe, she was a very nice lady with the signs of domestic violence. I felt sorry for her."

"Sorry for her, how dull could you be."

"You don't like her because you don't like crystals or modern ideas."

"She played you Dr Watson."

"What? Rubbish? What would you know? And what do you mean father of both children?"

"You see her as a helpless female, maybe abused by her partner and forced to endure some domineering woman who takes advantage. Nothing could be further from the truth. She places a protection charm over the doorway. Not your fault that you are led by your heart."

John splattered but Sherlock completely ignored him. "Ms White wanted Sasha not only as her lover but as her partner. Destroyed her marriage then caught her on the rebound. She convinced Sasha a child would complete their little family unit. Not just any child but Sasha husbands child. Maybe a threesome, maybe a sex potion, hard to tell." Sherlock waved his hand in the air and paced in a circle. "Anyway, the children are siblings but I doubt either parent will admit to that delicious fact. Recently they fought over Sasha's husband deciding he wanted closer contact with his son. Sasha accused Victoria of not trusting her so Victoria let the family go on holiday in the hope her own daughter would learn to accept Sasha. Bad decision, Sasha planned the holiday for when Victoria was unable to get leave. One could make a case for emotional blackmail but hardly murder."

John blinked, "and you gathered all that information how?"

"Obvious John, postcard on table, the photo of the family yet the other one pushed to the back covered in dust had three adults. I assume the male was the children's father there seemed enough points in common with the children's features. Didn't you wonder why it took her so long to come to the door?"

John looked back at the house. "You mean there was someone upstairs?"

"Really John do pay attention. The place positivity reeked of sage."

"I thought…"

"Domestic abuse, of course emotional blackmail is a form of abuse but she will never leave Marco's mother. Ms White considers herself in love." He said the word like it was a curse of the feeble minded.

John looked back at the house.

"I wouldn't bother if I was you, she would hardly admit it. Mycroft can check the departure dates to confirm her story, even contact someone in LA if necessary. But based on your logic the child is either dead or he's not. If he's dead we can just put him to the bottom of the list for investigation later. Problem solved." Sherlock rubbed his hands together. "Now, who's next, Soolin, marvellous choice? Off we go."

"What, hold on. No wait." John grabbed onto Sherlock's sleeve. "The problem is not solved."

"Oh what now."

"First, it's a child's life not a problem and second you failed to solve it. Therefore, I get to choose the next case."

Sherlock towered over John and tried to intimate him. "We agreed, you picked the first case and I would choice the second. Reneging on your word so soon?"

"I suggested Alice or Marco but you picked Marco. Therefore it's my turn."

"You want to go to the Dockland in peak hour traffic. Really John, I thought you were in a rush. Or we could go to Soho by taxi and then back home to Baker Street. But if you insist Dr Watson of course we will. I'm sure it will be fine sitting in a taxi for over an hour wasting money."

John frowned knowing Sherlock was right but not wanting to admit it to the mad bugger out loud.

"Really John, as long as it's a child on the list, do you really care which one?"

But before John could give in and agree he found Sherlock's attention focused in a completely different direction like a hound scenting a fox. "What is it? What's wrong? Sherlock?"

But the man was already striding towards his target. John automatically followed. They stopped at the window. "What."

"Sshh," said Sherlock as he leaned closer to peer at the little sign. He ran his hands over the window not quite touching the glass then did the same to the front door. "Stay here," he commandeered before walking in a big square, across the road, down the footpath then back across the road before he returned to John's side with a big smile on his face. "Brilliant," exclaimed Sherlock. "Completely brilliant. Low frequency magic in the shadow of the house."

John stared at the sign and now Sherlock had mentioned it, he could feel the touch of magic. A slight compulsion to notice the sign.  
"What is it? Is it important?" said John his attention still fixed on the case but Sherlock was already retreating down the street leaving John to catch up.

"I wonder if Mycroft will let me put a sign up. No, not Mycroft's, Bakker Street. It's more suitable as a place of business with more foot traffic and there's an excellent café downstairs. I'll use their window of course. Consulting detective, excellent notion. I should have thought of it much earlier."

"But isn't that sign illegal?"

"A white witch pledges no harm," repeated Sherlock and smiled a very Slytherin smile. "It's all about the intent John. Do pay attention."


	10. Chapter 10

They strolled back to the main road, each caught in their own thoughts about what just happened. There was something not right in the house but John wondered if it was his business. He wasn't a relationship counsellor, he was a doctor employed to check why the children weren't at school and clearly Marco had gone on holiday. Nothing suspicious, nothing creepy or abnormal and yet as a doctor he considered a happy home resulted in a healthier child. Should he go back and have a private chat or wait a couple of days.

"Waste of time, the smart decision would be to assess the situation when Marco returns."

"What?"

"She will either ring for assistance or she won't. I'm predicting won't but as I'm not good with emotions I can't be positive. You were thinking about Ms White weren't you?"

"Of course I was, aren't you?"

"Indirectly. Do you think I should have a green background or white? People traditionally expect black letters with a white background but what does it say about me. Boring? Traditional? But what colour, blue, green, red? No not red, too emotional." Sherlock took a few more strides. "Well?"

"Err, I thought you would just charm the card?"

"First impressions are very important John. A new business needs the correct type of client to succeed. I can't just rely on the magical properties inserted into a card."

"Right, ok, maybe you could just look at the notice board at the local supermarket to get some ideas."

Sherlock looked at John as if he was a moron. "Or pay an advertising expert," said John feeling like an idiot.

"An advertising expert?" Sherlock sounded intrigued.

It took John three paces before he even realised Sherlock had stopped. "What did I say?" he said looking back.

"Brilliant, an expert in advertising. Obvious. Of course, it's obvious. Why didn't I think of it first?" Sherlock took a few long paces in John's direction.

"Muggles have experts in everything," said John but Sherlock had already walked past heading for the corner with his long legs muttering to himself. He glanced back at John, waited a few seconds then raised his arm towards the street. John refused to rush yet he arrived as the taxi pulled up to the kerb. John speculated if magic was involved but came to no conclusion. There was no evidence either way. Sherlock just grinned and slid into the back seat.

At least this time he left the door open. Progress, thought John.

In the taxi Sherlock behaved like a child pointing out signs to John, as if John really cared, then turning around in his seat to stare out the back window. John wondered if acting like a child was Sherlock's default mode or the man was just doing it to annoy John.

John stared out his own window trying to spot the excitement that captivated Sherlock's attention. But all he saw were the normal London streets. When had he gotten so old he lost the joy of living, at feeling the excitement of seeing and feeling new things?

"Hey," John tapped Sherlock on the arm and pointed out the window as they sat stopped at the lights. Sherlock started at him then his eyes followed to where John was pointing. His face lit up with a grin as he spotted the sign.

"A bit obvious and slightly tacky."

"Oh," said John a bit disappointed.

"A naked lady on her back with legs spread. Not quite what I was aiming for."

"Not that one you burke, the one next to it." But the light turned green and the cab started moving. Sherlock did his meerkat impression out the back window but didn't look impressed.

John sighed, annoyed at being ignored, he pulled the list out of his pocket and read through the names again. He found a pen, added a note in the margin next to Marco and after a bit of thought, put another note next to Thomas Holmes.

"Soolin Wong, she lives with her mother and grandmother. Bit skimpy on the details," he said finally looking in Sherlock's direction.

"The mother is from Hong Kong," Sherlock replied. "She immigrated after China reclaimed the island. The grandmother followed later. Two children, both girls but no trace of the father."

"Nothing else?"

"Such as?"

John shrugged before tucking the list back into his pocket. He wanted to ask if Soolin was a half blood or a muggle but realised that such a question was rude. He turned his attention to the people walking along the footpath. They belonged in London like he never felt he belonged. He was half blood, and he had never felt comfortable in either world.

"Where the mother works for example," he finally said.

"Nope."

He hoped this interview would take a bit longer than Marco's. A quick glance at his watch showed the time was getting closer to three now. A quick chat with her mother, grandmother, parent, guardian whoever meant he would spend the rest of the afternoon staring at the four walls of his flat.

Unless he went out. He felt the weight of the cell phone in his pocket. It would be easy to contact Mike and suggest a pub outing. Or one of his other friends, there must be someone free this evening. But the phone wasn't his, well not his personal phone programmed with his friend's numbers. The only number he remembered was Mike's, why would he, he never phoned anyone. The only solution meant going home first which defeated his plan of not going home.

Home meant settling down in front of the telly for the evening. The same old rut.

A quick glance in Sherlock's direction and he wondered how the other man intended to spend his evening. Sherlock ad family waiting at home, a cooked meal on the table and Thomas to talk too about his day. John felt jealous until he remembered Thomas sitting in the inn all alone with Sherlock nowhere to be seen. Maybe not the perfect life after all.

Would Sherlock investigate one of the kids behind his back? John wouldn't put it past the daft bugger. Decision made, he would see how the day worked out before he make plans for the evening. John smiled and looked at his reflection in the window. The man he saw looking back at him looked in control. John nodded to himself then once more let his attention focus on the street.

It didn't take long to reach Soho, Sherlock had been right about that. Silently John acknowledged a traffic to the Docklands would have been a nightmare. The taxi pulled up outside a restaurant with shops on either side. A glance up showed the floors above the restaurant had been converted to residential properties.

"Are you sure this is Soho," said Sherlock staring out the window. "Where are the drug dens and the sex shops?"

"It's been a while since you've been here mate," said the taxi driver. "Sadly they've all gone. Replaced by richer businesses in the name of progress. If its sex shops you want I can take you to Chinatown but the address you want is down that road." He pointed towards a gap in the street that looked more like an alleyway than a road.

John paid and asked for a receipt which caused Sherlock to huff in annoyance at the delay. On exiting the taxi Sherlock spotted the small road sign verifying they were in the right place but damned if John could see any house numbers.

"Number 27," said John after the taxi departed. "Can you spot it?" The smell of food made reminded John of his hunger. Normally when he got home from the surgery he had some soup and toast or cheese toasties but Sherlock had dragged him away on this adventure. There hadn't been time for a proper breakfast and because he thought he had the afternoon free he had skipped lunch. The smell of chicken and spices made his mouth water.

"No time to think about your stomach, this way," said Sherlock and dragged John down the thin ally where he proceeded to knock on a door.

A small Chinese woman, hunched over with age peered out from behind the gap.

Sherlock gave a slight bow. "Hello, we are looking for the mother or guardian of Soolin Wong."

John sighed, his mentally prepared a speech to introduce themselves was now completely wasted. "Dr Watson from the Ministry of Education madam," he took a step forward before Sherlock could say anything rash. "We…" the door closed in his face.

"Well," said Sherlock. "That went well. Now what?"

"Well I…" John turned back to the door and proceeded to bang on it with his fist. He wasn't surprised when nothing happened. He wasn't even sure they had the correct house. "Git, if you had just let me speak she wouldn't have slammed the door in our faces."

"That's it. Your great plan was just to ask nicely and expect the door to be flung open in welcome?"

"Yes, you should try it some time." They waited but got no response even when John resorted to calling. There was no letter box and no bell. He felt like hitting Sherlock for pointing out the obvious and realised the Wong's could live in any of the flats overlooking the road. "What we need is information," said John taking a step back to peer up at the building.

Sherlock snorted at John lack of progress and looked around finally spotting a teenager emptying food scraps into a bin. "Excuse me, we need to speak to Mrs Wong about her daughter," he said walking closer to the young lad. "They live at number 27. Could you tell me exactly where that is?"

The kid looked up and said something in Chinese. Sherlock replied in the same language and pointed across the road. "I know you speak English," Sherlock added but the teenager merely replied in Chinese.

"Look, we are just making enquiries," said John fed up. He pulled out the Honeypot ID and held it out for the young man to read. It didn't seem like an area that would appreciate government interference. "We had a call requesting help at number 27."

The boy flicked his eyes towards ID then backwards the house. "This is England, children shouldn't be silent. Are you really a doctor?"

"Yeah, a medical doctor. What do you mean by silent?"

The kid shrugged. "They keep to themselves, good quite neighbours. Dad says leave them alone and respect your elders but old ideas are just stupid. Look I have work. Sorry but I can't help." He turned and picked up his bin. "Sometimes I push food through the window," he said in a low voice and nodded in the direction of the door they had been knocking on.

John turned to stare back at the house.

"Not up, down," muttered Sherlock in his ear.

John lowered his gaze and noticed the dirty grimily window level with the footpath which had a small patch on the glass less grimly than the rest. He could have sworn he saw a pair of eyes duck out of sight. How had he managed to fail to notice the window?

"I think there's a child in the basement. We need to get into that house," said John as they walked back to the front door. Sherlock reached into his jacket but John grabbed his wrist. "No magic, you were told." Their eyes clashed. "Fine, but at least wait until we are inside," said John giving in. a child's like was more important than stupid rules. Any problems he would sort later.

Sherlock stared at John for a few seconds. "Alright," he said and slid his wand back into his pocket. Instead he pulled out something metal and smaller. Sherlock walked towards the door and crouched down as if tying his shoe lace. With a quick glance along the street in both directions, he pushed two thin tools into the lock. John stepped closer and slightly turned his body to block Sherlock's actions from view. He breathed slowly as he kept watch.

It seemed a very long time before Sherlock stood up and dusted his knees. "Mrs Wong," he called as he knocked on the door. As he stepped back he managed to twist the handle open and give the door a push. John's first impression was the door opened from the inside. But John knew better. "Well, done," he muttered in a low voice.

"After you Dr Watson," said Sherlock preening at the praise.

John brushed the door with his shoulder pushing it open even wider. The hallway was dimly lit. He paused to allow his eyes to adjust and spotted the old lady at the end of the hallway.

"You leave now," she stated. "You leave or I call police."

Sherlock pushed the door closed making the hallway even darker before he managed to find the light switch.

John blinked and stepped in front of Sherlock to stop his progress. He was fairly sure the woman was holding a meat cleaver against her leg. He took a step forward. "We mean no harm. We just want to know why Soolin didn't start at Hogwarts School at the beginning of the term. Then we'll leave."

The old lady looked very frail and small hunched over but John wasn't fooled. The meat cleaver reflecting in the light was held in a steady grip.

"Soolin already at school. Soolin good child. Why you come." The old woman could have been from anywhere from China to Germany.

"Could I speak to Soolin's mother," asked John in an undemanding voice.

"I am head of this household. I make the decisions about this family. You will speak to me." She lifted the cleaver and pointed it in their direction. "Why you come?"

John looked at Sherlock waiting for the man to take over but the man was oddly silent. John wasn't sure how to go about explaining witchcraft and the need for a quality education. The old lady clearly had her pride.

"Your granddaughter won a scholarship to Hogwarts, a boarding school in Scotland. They became concerned when she didn't arrive and contacted the Ministry of Education."

"Lie, you try to trick old woman. Soolin never apply for scholarship."

"Honeypot Trust provides paid scholarships for deprived city children, to receive an excellent individual education whist learning the wonders of the natural environment," said Sherlock in a snooty voice. "Your granddaughter was selected."

"Child should go back to China, but no money," said the old woman. "Does this honeybee provide money to send child to China for education?"

"I don't know," said John. "We could ask but it would have to be a special school of the Trusts choosing."

"No," said Sherlock firmly over John's shoulder. "But there are other scholarships."

It made sense to John. Hogwarts couldn't be the only school wizarding school to offer assistance to kids.

The old woman peered at them and took a step forward. "Soolin is butterfly, Solon is beautiful, stay in London, become educated, get good marriage and provide for family. This is Soolins future. But owl came, invite Soolin to place of pig. Soolin would learn to be lazy and gluttonous at place of pig. Soolin not make good marriage. Family stay poor."

What the hell? thought John before he released the place of pig was Hogwarts School.

"You bring trouble, you leave now." The old woman took a step forward placing herself directly in the middle of the hallway.

"The second child, where is it?" asked Sherlock.

"There is no second child?" But the old woman's eyes slid down and to the left.

"We saw one in the window. Does that child not belong to you? Maybe she belongs to a neighbour?" Sherlock took a step forward and John turned side on to offer a smaller target if the situation got violent.

"Law says there is no second child."

Sherlock straightened to tower over the hunched women. "In China, but this is England Madam. Now, you will produce this child or I will call the police."

John looked bewildered, not sure what was happening but his instincts said to support Sherlock. He found himself falling into a soldier stance, balanced and relaxed. He wanted to think the old frail hunched woman was no threat but he had seen too much while working in her Majesty's army.

"First the owl brings death to my doorstep, now you come with your evil ways. Get out, leave this house." The Chinese woman raised the cleaver and shook it at Sherlock. John moved slightly for a better angle of attack then balanced on his toes ready for action.

The old woman leapt. Sherlock stepped forward a second before John reacted. Sherlock grabbed the cleaver, twisted it out of the woman's fingers then spun her directly into John's arms. With the woman out of the way Sherlock stormed up the passage leaving John to deal with the torrent of abuse.

In his arms the old woman was just skin and bone and John's first reaction was to not injure her. When the blow handed it was more of a surprise than should have been for a trained solider. The old biddy was tougher than she looked.

"Now look here," he said in a stern voice as he grabbed her wrists and tried to dodge her feet.

"Factoring in the age of the building plus remodelling, the servant quarters would be at the back of the house. Four storey brick, which means the basement stairs should be …" Sherlock turned in a circle before he raced off in the direction of his pointed finger.

The old lady twisted away from John's grip and chased after Sherlock now walking down the hallway opening doors. It was like a sparrow chasing after a stork as she cursed shrilly in Chinese.

Completely ignoring the situation Sherlock stopped and pushed a door wide open to reveal a staircase to the basement. John quickly grabbed the old woman while her attention was on Sherlock. He wouldn't put it past her to push Sherlock down the stairs as Sherlock disappeared from view. They struggled and John admired the old woman's strength.

"Medic," yelled Sherlock.

Acting instinctively John belted the old lady to subdue her then dragged the struggling woman away from the door, closed it smartly in her face and threw the bolt before making his way down the staircase and around the corner towards Sherlock's voice.

"Bloody hell." On the bed lay a women bleeding from strips across her back. It took a second for his mind to accept the woman had been whipped in a flat in London England. Old scars crossed her back under the new. At the sight of John the woman whimpered and tried to move to the edge of the bed were a young child between five and eight was tucked into a corner. The kid ducked her head trying to hide between the bed and the wall.

Sherlock uttered something in Chinese and the mother relaxed. John recognised the word doctor. The woman relied and the child stood up. John could see skinny arms and big brown frightened eyes. He judged the child to be underweight but alert and that made the woman on the bed was his top priority. Leaning over he picked up the mothers arm and let his fingers slide over her pulse. He was not happy with the result.

Taking the phone out of his pocket John threw it across the room to Sherlock who caught it with nibble fingers. "Call 999," he said. "She needs an ambulance."

Sherlock looked blank, "how?" Sherlock walked closer hand out stretched. John swore as he grabbed back the phone and pressed 999. "Dr Watson," he said and gave his registration number. "I need medical and police assistance for a domestic violence situation." He proceeded to give the address and details then tossed the phone back to Sherlock.

"Keep the line open," he instructed Sherlock. "And request DI Lestrade to come if he can. I think I have his phone number somewhere."

"Never mind, I have it memorised," replied Sherlock and proceeded to talk to the woman at the other end of the phone in a very loud voice. "What else do you need?" he said looking in John's direction.

"Some water would be helpful."

The child cringed as Sherlock passed close but John noticed she was bright enough to realise they were trying to help. "Do you want to go get your mother a glass of water?" asked John in a soft voice. The child looked at him and shook her head. John didn't press the issue but continued to work on the mother to make her more comfortable.

The child suddenly whimpered, her eyes widened with fright.

"Sherlock," warned John drawing Sherlock's attention to the fact the old woman as once more in the room with them. He hadn't noticed when the banging stopped, subconsciously he thought she had given up. Big mistake. Damn, there must have been a second entrance into the basement. "Also, ask for elderly services. And a Chinese interrupter might be a good idea."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but did as requested and turned his attention back to the phone.

"She is nothing," hissed the old lady as she hobbled forward. "She brings dragon into house, dragon use her then leave. She not produce son." The old woman spat onto the ground.

John was just glad to see there was no weapon in her hands. "And the child?" said John trying to get the young girl to come closer while he checked the mothers injuries. "Sherlock, how long until the ambulance arrives," he called without taking his attention on grandmother but he couldn't split his focus. "You," he said firmly to the child who turned to face him. "Watch her, tell me if she gets close." The child understood the danger immediately and her attention fixed firmly on the old woman.

Sherlock spoke into the phone then listened. "Eight minutes," he replied. "What's the child's name?"

"She has no name. She is second daughter of whore, she is nothing. The dragon does not want girl, does not need another girl, the great dragon seeks a boy. Only Soolin has potential to a better life for this family."

Sherlock raised his hand in anger but John grabbed it. "No magic remember," he hissed.

The women on bed stirred. "Take the children. Please, get them out of this house. Protect them." Her English was beautiful like the sound of water over stones and John could see she had once been a stunning woman.

"You brought shame on this family. I should have drowned you at birth," hissed the grandmother creeping forward.

"Just lie still." John pushed down on her shoulders to stop the mother moving and splitting the skin open. "We have called an ambulance, help will be here soon."

"No, no ambulance. I can't leave my children here. Please, I can work, I just need time to rest and heal."

"Your daughter," John tried to calm the distort woman. "What's her name?"

"Soolin," said the woman. "Soolin is at school, safe."

"No, not Soolin," John said gently. "The youngster by your side with the beautiful almond eyes and dark hair."

The woman's eyes darted to the side, "Pansy," she whispered. "Please keep her safe."

"Ahh forbidden love," said John fondly but the mother's eyes grew fearful. "It's a beautiful name for a beautiful child. There is no need to worry."

"One minute out," called Sherlock in a loud voice. "The idiots can't get the ambulance down the alley."

"If she leaves this house she will not return. She can starve on the street. Then what will happen to her precious children."

"Go open the door Sherlock." They stared at each other. "It's OK just go."

Sherlock twirled and raced up the stairs the phone still in his hand. John heard the sound of the bolt being slid opened then more footsteps.

"You bring evil into this house. You are cursed." With Sherlock gone, the old woman seized her opportunity. She pulled out the stick hidden in the folds of her skirt and stepping forward, she raised it over her head.

Instinctively John whipped out his wand and created a Chinese red dragon on a slightly larger scale than he normally did. With a flap of its wings, the creature flew directly at the old lady and hissed in her face. The grandmother screamed, cursed in Chinese and shrunk back against the wall while trying to hit the illusion with her stick. The dragon nimbly darted out of the way of each stroke.

John saw a faint smile in the child's eyes as if for the first time Pansy realised her grandmother could be scared of something.

"What the hell?"

Startled at the voce John turned and realised the ambulance crew had arrived and were staring at the dragon. The illusion instantly vanished.

"This woman has been seriously beaten," he stepped aside to focus their attention on the mother's plight. "I recommend immediate hospitalisation and the children placed in care." And suddenly the room was crowded with police, social workers and paramedics.

"Bloody hell," said Greg entering the now crowded room. "What's going on?"

"Mrs Wong keeps saying the dragon in the room must be banished," said a young male interpreter. "Something about evil spirts and bad blood."

"Are you alright Bert you look like you've seen a ghost?"

"I thought I saw a dragon," muttered the man. "When we arrived like."

"Of course you saw a dragon," ridiculed Sherlock upon entering the room. He pointed towards the mirror in the corner of the room. "Mirror," he stated clearly and moved a finger thirty degrees. "Dragon." In the corner, in front of the mirror, hung a red welsh dragon swinging in the breeze on a piece of string. Even John blinked, the toy dragon did look very much like his illusion except it looked, well Welsh instead of Chinese.

"Just a toy Bert, trick of the light."

"Case closed," announced Sherlock as the ambulance men concentrated on their patient once more. "Someone will need to collect the child up from school and make all the arrangements for Hogwarts. I suggest Mycroft would be an excellent choice Detective." Sherlock stopped talking and looked down. "John, there appears to be something attached to my leg. Please remove it so we may leave."

John fussed around the woman being readied for a transfer to the stretcher a bit miffed he wasn't needed. A quick look at Sherlock's plight had him walking over to grab the toy and give a quick tug on the string to release it.

Greg looked down and saw the thin child hugging Sherlock's leg like her life depended on it.

"Her name is Pansy and she likes dragons," whispered John loudly. He wiggled the dragon in his hand to capture her attention then gave it to it to Greg to hold. The child's eyes followed the plush red dragon as it transferred from one person's hand to another. "I would suggest that someone from Muggles for Magic or the Squibs society help the family find alternative accommodation while the situation gets sorted," he added in a much quieter voice.

Greg frowned, "You mean to tell me the grandmother did this to her own daughter?" It wasn't the worst case of domestic violence Greg had responded to, or even the most violent. Yet the whole situation just felt wrong to his mind.

"Do keep up," said Sherlock as John succeeded in getting the child to follow the dragon and transfer her grip from Sherlock's leg to Greg. Greg bend slightly and with a big smile offered the toy to the child. A hesitant hand reached out to pat the red fur as her other arm wrapped tighter around Gregg's leg.

"Look let me make sure my patient is alright before we leave yeah?"

"Not your patient. Oh all right. I'll go annoy the police shall I? I'm sure they need all the help they can get. Try not to be long."

Before John could think of a reply Sherlock could already be heard going back up the stairs. For all of Sherlock's demeanour he knew the man was having fun so John turned his attention back to the room.

"What's she saying," asked Greg indicating the elderly Asian muttering to the social worker while a police woman took notes.

"Do you want the literal translation or what she means?" asked Sally observing the scene.

"Give us exactly what she said," said Greg and rubbed his eyes as he wondered if he was going to make it home on time for tea.

"Dragon come, dragon sleep with daughter, daughter has child none boys. All die, buried in back garden. Dragon stop coming, marries one of his own. Dragon stops money. Hard to live in London with no money." The words were said in a sing song voice of a child and Greg looked down to see the little girl blinking up at him. "I speak English," she said the dragon now tucked firmly in her arm.

Bloody hell, of course she did. Didn't Sherlock say the kid had been born in England? Greg had assumed the child couldn't understand English because he hadn't heard a word from her. Shit, he hoped she didn't understand what she was saying because it didn't sound good and he didn't need little voices talking about magic and witchcraft. Greg hated secrets.

"Honey, there's no such things as dragons," said Sally smiling down at the little girl.

The girl glared at the policewoman, looked around the room and pointed in Sherlock's direction. "English dragon, not Chinese," she said as if that explained everything as she clutched the toy tighter for courage.

Sally narrowed her eyes. "Do you think that's what the old lady means boss? A haughty, arrogant egotistical rich bustard slept with her daughter then dumped her?"

"Sergeant," warned Greg. "Little ears."

Whatever Sally was going to say, Greg was grateful when she kept her mouth shut.

Mrs Wong refused to be transferred until Sally convinced her the children would be safe with one of the neighbours now listed in Sally's black book. The police were already out knocking on doors. She wanted to walk the stairs but none of the medical personal or police thought that was a good idea either. After John spoke to her the ambulance crew hustled her away. Another group removed the grandmother for a mental health assessment which made Greg grin, it didn't do to insist on killing dragons or accusing your grandchildren of having traitors blood near well-meaning social workers. Greg suspected the daughter would refuse to press charges which would result in the old Mrs Wong back home within twenty four hours. Better than nothing and maybe long enough to fix the situation for the mother and kids. Greg felt good. If it hadn't been for Mycroft's list who knows when the situation would have been discovered if ever.

"One of the drug dogs acted funny but of course the idiots couldn't find anything. I suggested they bring in a cadaver dog and do a proper check." said Sherlock excitedly. "Do make them check all the neighbourhood, especially that little park around the corner. There is something not quite right about it. Come on John, time for tea. Lestrade can finish up here. That's what he's employed for."

"I thought I would go to the hospital, make sure everything is alright with Ms Wong."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Sherlock in a huff. "The hospital hardly needs another doctor getting in the way."

"But she's my patient."

"Doubtful," said Sherlock walking away.

John and Greg both watched him leave. "When I said to ring, I don't think it would be something like this. I thought you might need bloody London directions?" said Greg in a moment of quiet as social workers disappeared leaving the police to collect evidence and close up the property.

"If it makes you feel any better," said John looking around the room. "I didn't think I would find anything like this either."

"Go on, get out of here before that nutter finds something else."

John paused at the bottom of the stairs. "It makes you think doesn't it? Just a name on a list. What if?"

"Don't go there John, it'll just make you crazy."

John understood, he was a doctor after all. "Do you think…?"

"Tell Sherlock I'll make them check the park, yeah."

"Thanks." A look of relief passed over John's face but he still hesitated reluctant to leave if help was needed.

"Go on before his lordship starts yelling."

John found Sherlock poking into rubbish bins outside on the street. By mutual agreement they headed back towards the restaurants. It took half a block of walking before Sherlock found one which met with his approval.

"How do you…"

"Rubbish bins," said Sherlock pushing open the door.

John studied the menu finally picking shanghai noodles and mixed vegetables with beef. Sherlock selected green tea for two and when pushed by John, added roast duck. John glanced around the room hoping the meal wouldn't take too long. The smell of food at the other people's tables made John realised how starved he was.

"You created magic," accused Sherlock in a low voice when the waiter retreated with their order. "A flying dragon which actually attacked a person? You do realise how illegal that is. You could be arrested."

John shrugged as if the matter was of no concern. "It simply hissed. My medical illusions are incapable of doing any harm. It's not my fault the old woman was paranoid."

"No harm? It was seen by a roomful of muggles."

"Like that toy didn't appear out of thin air," challenged John. The illusion may not have been perfect and had mutated into a Welsh red rather than a Chinese red when he lost his focus but he had been busy at the time.

"I created a valid scenario to hide an illegal magical creature from being reported."

"I'm licenced for illusions. What's your excuse?"

"Medical only," huffed Sherlock. "Within the surgery. But outside your surgery illusions are against the rules Doctor Watson. How shameful, a Gryffindor breaking the rules. What is the world coming too?"

"There was a child in a stressful situation who may or may not be magical. Anyway you can't talk, you created a dragon too."

"A mere toy to cover the fact that you let the medic see your illusion. It was not a cute fluffy dragon but an attack dragon. The wand of course, the power, the attitude, I told you it was an excellent choice."

They fell silent as the plates of steaming food were placed in the centre of the table. John spooned some vegetables and noodles into his plate and started eating.

It had been a long time since Sherlock had felt a flash of desire. He watched John eat and wondered what it was about this man that made him attractive and cause the thought of sex to pop into his mind. A Gryffindor, it was sicking.

"Do you want sex," said Sherlock. He felt an itch, a desire to feel hot and sweaty flesh rub against his own. A dangerous need to connect to another person for a short time. This was how he found himself married to Irene.

"Yeah, that would be great." John stuffed some noodles into his mouth and chewed. "Your place or mine?"

"I destroyed my house. Well, I destroyed all the protection charms. You were right, they were strangling Thomas's magic."

John looked up from his plate. "That's good, I'm often right you know."

"Why did I not notice?" Sherlock tapped his chopsticks on the table as he stared into space. "I should have noticed."

"Because you love him," answered John with a smile.

"Rubbish. Emotion had nothing to do with it. I trusted my son and he took advantage. I should have factored in his mother's influence. She was never trustworthy. Got herself pregnant to spite me. I always miss something."

John raised an eyebrow at that piece of information. He never suspected Sherlock as being a bitter divorced parent. "It wasn't your fault."

"Of course it's not my fault. The house elves failed in their duty to monitor my son. Even my father was unsurprised. He alleged he had known for years. He even said I was a moron for not noticing." Sherlock drummed the chop sticks on the edge of the table again. "You told me to destroy all the charms, so I did. The end result is I have been forced to live with my brother."

"It worked didn't it?"

"Not the point," muttered Sherlock and placed the chopsticks back on the table and picked up the soy sauce. "Of course we could use Mycroft's house but the prig will disapprove if I had sex in his house. Rather two faced considering what he gets up to with his lover. Not worth the argument so obviously it will need to be at your place or …"

"What?" said John surprised.

"Sex, you me, do pay attention."

"No."

"No, what?"

"No to sex. I thought you were kidding," said John wondering how he got himself into these situations.

"So, you have a girlfriend?" asked Sherlock.

"You can't tell?" John looked surprised at that admission.

"Married but currently not living with your wife, naturally." Sherlock peered at John. "You have a child, a daughter. Ahh, she isn't yours. That's interesting. You offered to support the child but your wife said no."

"Mary said she didn't need my money. She said I should spend it on myself."

"Your need for money is evident. The father of the child is providing support of course."

"That's not the point she was my daughter for the first six years of her life. He may have more money but I don't have to like it." John angrily spooned more duck onto his plate.

"So, girlfriend?" asked Sherlock.

"No."

"That female at the surgery has a different opinion."

"Who?" John visualised all the woman at the surgery but couldn't think of anyone special.

Sherlock just smiled and sipped his tea.

Sure, a group sometimes went to the pub for an outing but that was few and far between. When John wasn't too bloody knackered at the end of the day he just wasn't in the mood. "No, no girlfriend at present. What about you, girlfriend?" he said to break the silence. It was only fair he learned something about his partner.

"No John, I prefer my own sex but no boyfriend currently if you are interested." The way he stressed the word, boyfriend sounded tame. "Not married either in case you are wondering."

"Oh, no that's fine but not interested. Really not interested," said John and stuffed some food into his mouth.

"I know its fine John. And even if it wasn't fine, it's really none of your business."

"No," said John. "Not my business. I was just being polite."

"Unless you want sex with me which would be quite all right if you're interested."

"I, err..." John wondered how he could change the subject.

"If you are worried about messy feelings interfering with our arrangement I could pay of course. In fact I would refer to pay. A strict financial arrangement with no feelings involved would be a lot more satisfactory."

John choked and turned red. "I'm not a prostitute Sherlock."

"Oh very well have it your own way, you can pay me. What? Not enough money? What about a trade, you could do the cooking and cleaning and I'll supply the sex. How does that sound."

"Like we are bloody married couple," snapped John not believing this conversation.

Sherlock frowned. "Are you sure? Irene never cleaned a day in her life. Hum, maybe that's where we went wrong. And the sex wasn't very good either." Sherlock leaned back of the chair. "Actually, at the start it was bloody fantastic. And regular," said Sherlock with a faraway look on his face. "I miss regular sex. Then Thomas was born. But I'm sure you will be much better in bed than my wife, much less bossy and of course there would be no risk of pregnancy."

"No," said John. "And no means no."

Sherlock picked up his cup and took a sip of green tea. "No pressure, I'll ask again when you are ready shall I?"


End file.
